#so i was just a wee bit sleep deprived

[anxietywriter]

Boundary Breaking

A prompt list of things people do that either push, invalidate, or flat out break character's boundaries as well as a list of possible boundaries + brief desc. (i switch pronouns and pov's a lot in this, my bad)

Don't touch my hair without asking: hate it when anyone, even friend or family, just randomly come up and stroke my hair, especially from behind because wtf? headpats are more ok for me since they're not creeping on my hair but it might not be ok for others :)

people responding to this boundary by saying that they and their friends braid each others hair all the time and like playing with each other's hair, equating that to sneaking up on someone and caressing their hair

asking if they can pat my head and saying "i don't know if it's okay because you're kind of weird about that," yeah that's weird of me /s

people that go behind me, scoop up my long hair, touching my neck, and just going "your hair feels nice" completely umprompted, like what made you think this was okay

people that just randomly decide to put their grubby paws on natural hair?? like no especially if they fuck up your do

silently reaching out for my hair, instead of telling me something's in my hair. like tell me, use your words, either i will let you go for it or i will do it myself but please vocalize it

i personally can't get my hair washed at salons bc i don't like people touching my hair/scalp that much,, makes me squeamish

I've got stuff to do: whenever you try to leave, or tell someone that you can only stop by, they always try to get you to stay any way possible. to the point where they will tell you that what you want to do or will do isn't important or as enjoyable as spending time with them.

peer pressuring you, even jokingly, for 20 minutes, because at that point it is no longer a joke and it is exasperating

everytime you try to end the night/leave, they try to reel you back in by saying things like 'oh do you have to leave now' or 'you could just make a quick stop and come back' or 'we could watch more of this show'

when you respond to their texts or something at night after hanging out they say something along the lines of 'smh you're still awake, we could be hanging out rn' guilting you

they minimize whatever you're working on or whatever you're stressed about, trying to make it seem less important in order to get you to goof off or hang out with them

even if you have work and are hanging out with them and they say it's fine, they still interrupt you while you're doing work to pay attention to whatever they find absolutely essential for you to see

when you feel like there's not a lot of wiggle room for what you need to do versus focusing/hanging out with them, you need to enforce that boundary of prioritizing your needs because the situation is nearly codependent

No unsolicited comments on my art: i personally don't do art around anyone really unless it's in class and whenever i happen to outside of class, it does not go well. even after just one comment, it feels like they're watching my every move which kind of kills my flow. also they often comment without knowing anything about the piece and it comes off as very ignorant rather than a meaningful critique.

positive ones are at least well-meaning, but you aren't given context/the concept of the art, it might be best to leave it alone, especially if it's a sketch

negative comments do not help, even if they are joking, especially if you try to life their art up it can feel very irritating

art has ugly phases, wait until it's done or get out

if you aren't told the concept of the art and you make a negative comment, you have to understand that you run the risk of doing that to a piece that the artist made to reflect a sensitive topic

safest bet imo is if the artist isn't asking for criticism (ex: if they're in a classroom setting or directly asking) then might be best to hold back

artists, especially young ones, are often still growing and still developing their own art style and trying to really grasp proportions or composition. so don't be quick to tear them down when they trust you enough to be part of the process.

I don't like physical affection: for my lovelies that just don't like physical touch. most peeps like physical touch, so it's super uncomfortable when those peeps try to force that touch on you, especially after explicitly saying nope. like creepy crawlies all over you skin ew

never force people into hugs, don't care if it's cute or if that's your love language, it's not theirs, it discomforts them

don't just sidle up to them casually and squish yourself to them. yeah they notice, and it's also kind of creepy

accidental touches/brushes are fine and sometimes unavoidable, but the deliberate shit, the booping, the pats, the arm linking, nope. count them out.

constantly forcing them into physical affection isn't going to make them warm up to it or get used to it, it makes them associate physical affection with force. so yeah it's even worse than before congrats

Don't call me that: certain adjectives, terms, names, all of those can have different associations to different people, especially if they're a minority or have a certain life experience. for example, i hate being called cute because if i know that person irl, then i know that it is because i am small and not taken seriously, which i find irritating, like listen to me.

if they are uncomfortable being called a certain term or name, refrain. there can be negative experiences associated with that, find a damn alternative

trans rights are human rights and it's 2022 bitch, not that hard to at the very least respect pronouns. get used to saying the correct pronouns for someone, it's actually not super difficult or a burden. imo pronouns aren't a super big deal, if someone likes certain pronouns i'm happy to oblige, doesn't cost me anything to make them feel better

if they have an aversion to a certain pet name or adjectives like 'pretty' or 'handsome' or 'baby' again, avoid it there's probably some negative experiences associated with them. continuing to say it in a loving/affectionate tone does not necessarily change that association for them

names and pronouns are kind of an important part of someone's identity, so ignoring their wishes or making fun of them hurts and sucks ass

joking around and saying 'i know you don't like it when i call you/that cute but it is!' isn't fun, it's not quirky, you're literally ignoring a boundary that person set and are making them uncomfortable, even if it's only slightly

Personal bubble please: some people have no sense of personal space or respect and it's just bothersome, like not irritating but definitely discomforting. getting too close, especially from behind can be kind of creepy, like you do not need to be this close??

me no likey when people stand behind me and look over my shoulder, giving me horror game vibes over there

there is so much space on this couch/bench why are our thighs touching, get away

i absolutely love you but if your arm knocks into mine one more time it will be war, just make a lil steppy over

please do not just fucking touch me with your whole palm this is uncomfortable why do you need this much surface area, pull back a little bit my dude

why is your face so close, back up, stop, do not pass go, do not collect 200 monopolians or whatever it's called, leave the bubble

Why are you touching my stuff: everything has a place, it is organized chaos more often than not for me. i will remember it if i see it, but if you put it into a drawer when i am not around, i will mourn its loss and not find that thing until a decade later. also like, grubby hands off, it is mine to do with as i see fit

hate going into my room and seeing all my stuff moved around, like where is anything. like i appreciate the work and effort that went into organizing/cleaning but i am internally screaming because i can't recognize anything

when people are just picking at my stuffed animals and hoodies, looking kind of judgy, like leave them alone,,, i love them they're quite literally my comfort items

yeah you better stay away from the bookcase, that monstronsity is mine to clutter and organize in an incomprehensible fashion

they just start opening random cubbies/containers, like no? get out, that is my secret stash of unhealthy snacks and kinetic sand

i am deathly afraid that you will break/drop that glass or fragile object, please set it down in a gentle manner

if i ever come in and i see you quickly retract your little robot arms back into its socket, suspiciously positioned close to any object on a random surface, i will end you

just ask dude, if you're genuinely curious i'd probably be happy to talk about it and let you touch it (for the most part, no one lays a damn finger on my figurines)

Stop leaning over to see my screen: some things are not meant for others to see. the internet's weird. i'm weird. i like this weird thing and am not ready to share it with the world, step away from the phone dammit. it's also actually awful because i am 99% sure they see me trying to keep the phone outside of their sight, clearly not wanting them to see the screen, and yet there they still are.

when you turn the phone away or physically try to scooch out of their view and they still crane their neck over, like no. that was not an invitation

when you physically move your hand away and they still try to look or even grab for it like no, just no

instead of confronting them, just changing the screen or having the phone off around them bc you're tired of having to manhandle their eyes away from your screen

getting a fancy privacy screen for your phone and they question it, trying to guilt you for some strange reason? like 'what did you get that for' or 'i mean if you have nothing to hide'

them just looking over your shoulder to get a straight on view of the screen

[sourapplesauces]

I headcanon that while both are indeed such girlfailures ,

Ragatha are still maybe experienced in some romantic gestures or stuffs , like kissing and whatnot

And sometimes she gets ahead of herself and always gets overconfident on topping Pomni but always ended up being a flustered mess instead LMAOO ((poor Pomni having to wait for her ragdolly girlfriend to calm down , Ragatha swore to God this never happens 😔😔))

Meanwhile Pomni is either too afraid to make a move or is actually oblivious

But I also like to think that she's both "know what's going on but afraid to make the first move so that she won't get ahead of herself" XD

Another headcanon that I have for these two girlies are :

- they both fidget with each other's accessories fr

Like for Pomni , maybe she fidgets with Ragatha's bow or frills

Meanwhile for Ragatha , she might just fidget with Pomni's jester hat's circle thingy , because it kind of massages her paws ((her ragdolly hands but someone called them her paws and I could not agree more so I had to call it as that too HHHH))

Another headcanon #3 :

- Pomni comforts Ragatha more efficiently , maybe because she is more onto the rational side where she thoroughly think of a plan on how to effectively calm a person down

- And Ragatha , despite being the "motherly girlfriend" or whatever that you call it , needs the constant validation the most

I think that is all for now I am afraid to flood your inbox too much HHHHHH

Cmon we all know damn well Ragatha isn’t the confident one in the relationship.

As for Pomni, i feel like she just wants to be sure of Ragatha’s true feelings before she makes a move because she values their bond so much <3

Lol she broke Ragatha

For hc #2 omg this was such a cute idea ToT also calling Ragatha’s hands “paws” is just the most adorable thing ever

And last but not least hc #3!!

I love this dynamic so much. I feel like Ragatha hides her true emotions way too often, and i hc that Pomni helps her express herself better and in a healthier manner. She can seek out Pomni for reassurance and Pomni gives it to her in a straightforward and reasonable way.

[can-of-w0rmz]

Sometimes when the long-hair dysphoria starts hitting too hard you’ve just got to go full impoverished-Victorian-romantic-artist and ponytail it

[witchywcmans]

NEEDY. | AKI HAYAKAWA

synopsis ━━ you were in need of a roommate, and aki hayakawa needed a place that wouldn't ask any questions. you went to work during the day, while aki worked late nights. you basically had the apartment to yourself. it was honestly a match made in heaven. but then, you just had to come home one day and catch your roommate in a precarious situation. (aki x f!reader.)

content warnings ━━ voyeurism (just a wee bit), sex-deprived aki 🫶, but also possessive + jealous aki, masturbation, dirty thoughts + wet dreams, fingering, praise, multiple orgasms, classic missionary, unprotected sex, creampie, mutual pining/confession, kinda au (we're not mentioning the gun devil arc), aki has lived to see 26 + reader being a similar age, some religious imagery. nsfw (minors + ageless blogs dni).

word count ━━ 5.1k

song inspiration ━━ dealer, lana del rey / friends, chase atlantic / double fantasy, the weeknd

author's note ━━ hi.....hello.........so this idea has been in my head for a little bit, and I realize roommate aus like this are simply not that original, but god dammit I just needed to get this out of my head. anyway, I lurrrrrv sex deprived aki. shout out to my friend hollis for screaming about this with me hehe 💓

The most words you had ever said to your roommate were on the day you interviewed him before he moved in. You immediately noticed that he was strange, but also shy and seemingly harmless. When you had asked why he needed to move in so quickly, he had said something along the lines of a “toxic environment” with his previous roommates: “Denji and Power are just too noisy and reckless. They’re four years younger than me. I need a place less chaotic.” You had been interested in getting to know more – you were curious, after all, about your potential roomie – but once he mentioned that you’d probably never see him because he worked nights, you were sold.

Aki Hayakawa was your new roommate.

He had never been more excited to finally get away from Denji and Power and the tumultuous mess they had turned his apartment into. He was older now; he needed something for himself, even if it was with a roommate. Being a Public Safety Devil Hunter, he needed a place that didn’t think twice about him, a roommate who didn’t ask questions. That’s what he liked about you: your place was on the right side of the city, and you looked at him like he was normal. The Fox Devil said you weren’t going to be good for him, but Aki tended to ignore them anyway.

You had helped him move into your second bedroom just a week later and he hardly said a word, except to ask you who had formerly occupied this space. You were hesitant to talk about it at first, but you cracked soon enough: “My old best friend lived in here. We had rented this place together, but we … aren’t exactly speaking anymore,” you admitted, setting a box down at his feet. “I came home from work one evening and found my boyfriend cheating on me with her. It had been going on for months, right under my nose.” You looked away when you felt your eyes start to sting with tears, sniffling them away. “Friends come and go, I guess. But I’m thankful you, at least, worked out to rent this space.”

“Well,” he sighed, opening up the box as you turned back to him. He smirked. “I promise I won’t sleep with your boyfriend.”

You had laughed, and what a pretty sound it was. After move-in day, Aki was true to his word that you almost never saw him. You worked a normal 9 to 5, while Aki … well, you had no idea what Aki did. You assumed he was a security guard or something with the hours he worked and how he was always wearing a suit and tie. He was working all the time, even weekends. Sometimes, you would catch him coming home as you were leaving for work, or on Sunday morning as you ate breakfast in the kitchen. He would be too tired to talk, simply waving at you before retiring to his room.

It was almost like living alone … except for notes he’d sometimes leave you on the stove or the bathroom. Or the weekend mornings, when he’d get you a coffee and leave it out for you before going to his room. Or the once-in-a-blue-moon nights when you’d stumble in the early hours of the morning after drinking in the city with some friends, standing out on the deck with Aki as he smoked a cigarette. Nights like those, you could’ve sworn Fate was trying to get you two to see each other, because you would be arriving home at just the right hour and Aki would be getting off work early. And you would find him on the deck in his suit and tie, cigarette hanging from his lips, hair pulled up in his classic topknot. He would find you leaning against the railing in nothing but a short dress, the glitter on your lids making your eyes sparkle even more, and – god, you were just so pretty.

After that night, he started dreaming about you. He dreamed about how your lips would feel against his, what it would be like to have you sleep next to him and rest your head on his chest. He was consumed by thoughts of you under him, how you tasted, the way you’d tremble if he kissed that sensitive part of your neck you told him about one late night on the deck. His need for you was insatiable. In his line of work, there wasn’t much time for dating, let alone sex. He hadn’t been thinking about it that much, especially when he’d been housing Denji and Power, but now … he couldn’t stop thinking about you. Naked. Underneath him. On top. God dammit, he’d have you any way you wanted.

It made him wish he had acted on his instincts that night on the deck: pushing you against the sliding door, his lips crashing onto yours, hiking your skirt up that just barely covered your thighs and using his non-dominant hand (the one that didn’t shake) to feel how wet you were. But alas, Aki Hayakawa was a gentleman. 

You two had been living together for a year. He hardly knew you, but also knew you like nobody else did. He knew how you took your coffee – black with two sugars. He knew the brand of toilet paper you liked. He knew that you liked to hang your coats in the closet on the right side. He knew you drooled in your sleep, and what TV shows made you laugh, and how much your water bill was each month.

He was acting out in ways that were unlike him. If he came home from work and saw you had a guy over, he made his presence known. When you were at the office, sometimes he would go to your room just to smell your perfume, and other times he would steal your panties. (He always gave them back, feeling too shameful. But he did keep one underneath his pillow.) Some nights, he would pretend to leave for work early and you would retire to your room for the night, and then he would hear the familiar sound of your vibrator and – fuck, he had to go to work hard. Again. 

You were taking up too much space in his head. He was becoming distracted at work, thinking about what you were doing during these late hours. Maybe the Fox Devil was right: you weren’t good for him.

But he wasn’t moving out any time soon.

It was a Thursday after work and you were completely exhausted. After attending endless meetings and having to argue with coworkers all day, you left work early and were grateful to have a night alone with some leftovers from the night before. You had completely forgotten Aki telling you earlier in the week that he had this Thursday and Friday off, your mind preoccupied with work responsibilities. Sighing as soon as you walked through the door, you set your bag down and shuffled out of your shoes. You shut the door softly, at peace with the silence. You didn’t even have the energy to get out of your work clothes; you simply padded your feet to the fridge, plucking your leftovers out. It was only when you reached up to the microwave that you noticed the apartment wasn’t as silent as you assumed.

Sounds emanated from another room.

You got on your tip-toes, not wanting to make much noise if there was an intruder, and felt for the pocket knife you always kept on your person. Passing by your bedroom first, you popped your head inside. Empty. Hadn’t been touched since you left this morning. The bathroom was next, and you held your breath as the sounds got even more noticeable. You peeked into the bathroom and … clear. Linen closet: clear. Coat closet: clear. But the sounds only became more clear as you got closer to the end of the hall, Aki’s room, and –

You stopped in front of Aki’s bedroom, the door cracked just enough that you didn’t need to pop your head in to see what was happening. Aki was home, for once, and you … you were watching him through the crack in the door. But how could you not? You knew where the sounds were coming from now, because Aki was the one making them.

His dark hair swept in front of his eyes as he sat back against his pillows. He wore a white t-shirt, while his boxers bagged around his ankles. Grunts slipped from his mouth – that pretty, pretty mouth you'd seen wrapped around a cigarette. And his hand … his hand wrapped around his cock, pumping furiously – desperately – with a pair of your panties enveloping the head. The same red lace panties you thought you’d lost months ago. 

You almost considered walking away, making noise in the kitchen so he would know you were home, but then –

Then, your name left his mouth in a whimper.

He was stroking himself even faster, muttering your name into the silent room with your panties wrapped so nicely around his cock. He was thinking about you, wanting so desperately cum in your panties, wondering if you thought about him when you used your vibrator. You were frozen in place, completely fixated on him as he leaned back against his headboard, his face finally exposed so you could see the way his jaw went slack, the way he moaned out your name. And – oh my god, you should leave –

But you couldn’t. And deep down, you knew there was a dirty part of you that always wanted to see this. Ever since that night on the deck, when you were wearing your favorite dress and all that glitter, and you noticed that he was looking at you in a way a platonic roommate definitely shouldn’t. You had started to think about him late nights when you were alone with your toy. You brought home dates, wanting him to see, giggling when you recognized his jealous expression. You tried to wake up earlier, just to see him when he stumbled through the door. Once, you even did his laundry to smell the nicotine on his jacket. 

The two of you simply couldn’t help yourselves.

And when you watched him finally reach his peak, spilling into your forgotten red lace panties, you realized just how wet the ones you were wearing had become. You watched him grunt as he came, breathing heavily and wiping the sweat off his brow. And when he muttered under his breath a soft, “Fuck,” you couldn’t help the short gasp that left your lips.

Aki stalled. Oh, shit. You hadn’t been quiet enough. He sat up more in his bed, pulling his boxers up, and you whipped your back against the wall. You cupped your hand over your mouth, praying he wouldn’t come out and see. But he was whispering, “Who’s there?” And you only had enough time to move ten feet down the hall before you heard the creak of his soles on the old floorboards.

“Fuck,” he muttered, louder this time.

Your back went straight, and after what felt like an eternity, you slowly turned to face him. “Aki,” you put your hands up in surrender, “I didn’t see anything –”

“Oh, what the fuck,” he shook his head at himself, quickly walking back into his bedroom. You were stunned, not knowing what to do, as he continued talking to himself in the room: “Stupid fucking idiot not closing the fucking door. What the fuck? What the fuck? My worst fucking nightmare. Fuck, why do these pants always get caught around my ankles? I need to get out of here. Stay at Denji’s for the night. Fuck, fuck, fuck –”

He emerged from his bedroom, now wearing jeans, his favorite Converse, and a leather jacket. He tried to pass you without looking, whispering obscenities under his breath, but then you were tugging on his jacket, lips pressed together.

Aki paused, cheeks red with both embarrassment and anger at himself, but you didn’t let go of his sleeve. He noticed the redness of your face as well, the black of your pupils almost covering your entire eye, and were you … were you aroused?

Swallowing hard, your voice was but a mere whisper when you asked, “How long have you had those?”

He knew what you were referring to. It didn’t take an idiot. Your stares were locked, and despite his shame, he wouldn’t turn away. “A while,” he mumbled.

“How long is ‘a while?’”

“Months, okay?” His eyes narrowed and his voice took on a new tone. “Now, can you let go of my jacket so I can leave and save us both the embarrassment –”

“Months,” you repeated, licking the corners of your lips. His eyes were made of blue fire as he stared down at you, and even with your office attire on, you felt utterly naked beneath his gaze. “I’ve … I’ve been thinking about you for months too.”

Aki took a moment to process your words, and your grip hesitantly released on his sleeve. But he wasn’t – he couldn’t – let you get away so easily. His breath was shaky as he placed both of his hands on the wall behind you, pinning you to it. So many times had you two passed each other in this hallway, so many words left unsaid. And now, he was pressing you against it.

“You’ve been thinking about me … for months,” he thought out loud, leaning in a little and nosing your hair. Your scent was intoxicating. That perfume … he could cum in his pants just from smelling it. “For months, you’ve been bringing guys to the apartment to … to what? Make me jealous?” He chuckled under his breath. It took him so long to put it together. “For months, you’ve been touching yourself right before I leave so I go to work fucking hard.” His nose traveled down to your neck, grazing that spot you told him about, and you shuddered. “You’ve been putting me through the wringer and I didn’t even have a clue.”

“You’re … you’re not so innocent.” You tried to keep yourself together, but it was difficult with him pinning you to the wall and – oh, he was already hard in his pants, pressing into you.  “You’ve been stealing my panties so you can masturbate with them.”

Aki hummed quietly, pressing his lips so delicately to your neck, as if his cock wasn’t completely strained in his jeans. “I supposed I have,” he whispered against your skin, “for months.”

“Since that night on the deck,” you croaked out, hands balling into fists as he licked a stripe up your neck. If he didn’t stop, you’d surely moan. “But I didn’t say anything – didn’t think about saying anything – because … because we’re roommates.”

“We are roommates,” he said, lifting his head from your neck, his lips hovering so close to yours. “And if we’re just stating facts here, I’ve needed to kiss you since that night.”

You didn’t wait for him. Immediately leaning in, your lips pressed onto his in a hungry kiss. His mouth molded to yours, and he tasted exactly like you thought: like black coffee, cigarettes, those raspberry pastries he always kept in the kitchen. His tongue, slipping into your mouth, tangled with yours in a way that you had only dreamed about. Your hands released from their fists, instead reaching up to twist in his t-shirt, bringing him even closer to you. He’d hardly touched you and you were completely, utterly soaked. 

As if hearing your thoughts, his lips broke from yours for just a moment to beg, “I need to touch you.”

“Please,” you whispered back, and his mouth was back on yours.

He dragged one hand down from the wall (his shaky hand, believe it or not), still pressing you against it, and worked on unzipping your trousers. You nuzzled your nose against his as he kissed you deeply, slipping his hand in your pants, past the waistband of your panties and – you were exactly as he dreamed you’d be. Absolutely wet. Just as needy for him as he was for you. “Fuck,” he muttered into the kiss, spreading your soaked folds with two long fingers. 

Your lips tore away from his, a trail of spit following, because you simply had to release the moan you’d been holding in for so long. Despite loving the way your mouth fitted against his, he was glad for it, wanting to see your face when he started rubbing your sensitive clit. And fuck, was it the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Your fists on his t-shirt went loose as your body felt like it was made of liquid, angling into his. Your lips pursed, soft whimpers filtering out as he rubbed you in those tight circles.

“So fucking wet f’me,” he mumbled, grazing his lips over yours. “Dreamed about this for months. Fuck, I’ve gotten hard just thinking about this pussy.”

He finally dipped a single finger inside you, and your hips immediately jerked against his hand. Aki let out a shuddering breath when he felt how much you were squeezing just one finger, pumping it in and out of you slowly. “Please,” you whispered, despite his thoughts, “I can take more. I promise.”

You didn’t need to ask him twice. He shoved two fingers inside you, curling them against that spot that had your hips instantly bucking. “Fuck, Aki,” you whined as he plunged those fingers in and out of you, using his thumb to rub your clit. 

“Yeah?” He breathed. 

“Kiss me.”

Aki moaned from your words alone, kissing you hard while fucking you with his long fingers. He was practically drunk on you: your scent wrapped around him, you tasted like citrus, and the way bucked into his hand … god, he needed to fuck you. So bad. And if you didn’t want that, then he needed to jerk himself off immediately or else he was going to explode in his pants. The last thing he needed was another embarrassing moment tonight.

It only took seconds to have you sighing into the kiss, squeezing his fingers like a vice as you came. His thumb on your clit was relentless, taking you over that lovely peak, as you mewled and cried into his mouth. It was almost religious, the way you moaned, and Aki had never felt closer to God than in this moment.

When the adrenaline subsided, he slowly removed his fingers from you and broke the kiss. You watched him intensely as he brought the fingers covered in your slick to his mouth, tasting you. Your lips fell open slightly, eyes going wide while his own closed, savoring the taste. What the actual fuck, you thought to yourself. How the fuck have we been living under the same roof and it took this long for me to see that?

Without missing a beat, you pushed yourself off the wall, winding your arms around his neck and latching your legs to his waist. He lifted you as if you were made of air, kissing you so that you could taste yourself. Before you could even perceive how much time had passed, you were on his bed, blouse disheveled and trousers undone. Even your hair hadn’t left the updo you put it in every weekday. Your eyes flickered to the right and you giggled to yourself. He had finally shut the door.

His eyes remained on you as he shrugged off his jacket, and then his pants. He was back in the same outfit you saw him in earlier, when your panties had been wrapped around his cock like a birthday present. He hesitated before finally pulling off his shirt, and you saw the scars lining parts of his chest. Definitely not a security guard, you thought to yourself but decided not to ask about it now. You reached up as he stood between your legs, brushing your fingers over the scars, and then dragged them down his abdomen. His frame was thin, but he was more built than you believed, always hiding himself under those oversized button-ups.

He wrapped his hand around your wrist as you touched him so gracefully. “Do you want to …?” His voice was so soft, the question hanging off the edge of his tongue.

And then, you smiled up at him, looking like an angel. “Yes, Aki,” you whispered.

He felt like a kid in a candy store. The only thing – the one person – he’d been dreaming about and looked at him as if he weren’t a machine, or a gun with the trigger pulled, was lying before him and liked him. For months, they’d both said. His dominant hand was shaking as he started unbuttoning your blouse, and when you noticed (though you had observed this the day he moved in), you grabbed his hand and placed it on your cheek. With his left hand and your right, you worked together to undo the buttons until your chest was exposed for him. 

Moonlight streamed through his bedroom, the only light source in a seemingly dark area.  City lights reflected on you as you pulled your hair free from the updo, those pretty strands fanning on his sheets. His sheets. Because you were in his bed. The blinking lights from corporate buildings outside your little apartment created a halo around your head and – fuck, you really were something religious. For so long, Aki thought only hell existed. I mean, all the Devils were here, contracted to them. But seeing you splayed out so heavenly for him on his bed, he knew then that Angels had to exist too. 

He took his time taking your pants off, watching the way you bit your lip when the cold air of his room hit your soaked panties. Your eyes glanced up to his boxers, seeing the indent of his long, thick cock, and your mouth went dry. His fingers hooked on the waistband of your panties, slowly dragging down and throwing them off to the side, hoping you’d forget about them so he could pocket another pair. With you exposed and bare on his bed, he really took a moment to admire you: the way your cheeks flushed, how the halo around your head flickered, the way your arousal seeped out of your pretty pussy and your nipples peaked. He just had to touch you; it would kill him if he didn’t. Leaning down, he began peppering kisses on your neck, your collarbone, before finally latching his lips around one of those sensitive nipples. Your breath stuttered at the sensation, and he used his left hand to palm your other breast, twisting the nipple between two fingers. You writhed under him, and he couldn’t help but grind his clothed cock against you, groaning and swirling his tongue around your nipple in tandem. Locking your legs around his waist, you held him to you so he was forced to keep grinding against you. It felt too good, and he wasn’t even inside you yet.

He tugged on your nipple and released it, breathing heavily as his eyes met yours. “If you don’t let me go, I’m definitely going to cum before I’m even inside you.”

“Poor Aki,” you giggled, letting your legs fall back on the bed. “Would that really be so bad?”

His eyes were burning into yours, serious as a heart attack. “I’ve been fucking my hand to the thought of you for what feels like forever,” he whispered, pressing a light kiss to the valley between your breasts. “I don’t want to ruin this moment.”

Aki moved up so that his lips were hovering over yours again, and he could really see the sparkle of your irises in the moonlight. You reached in between your bodies and gingerly massaged his bulge, feeling how much he’d already soaked his boxers with precum. “You couldn’t ruin anything even if you tried,” you replied, your voice light and airy. “I’m on the pill. I’m ready when you are.”

“Shit,” he groaned at your mention of being on the pill, trembling as you massaged him. This had to be another one of his dreams. Just the thought of being inside you without the barrier of a condom … he was so close to completely exploding. He didn’t deserve this, didn’t deserve you, after all the hell he’d witnessed and brought forth into this world. But he couldn’t help himself. He needed to have you, roommates be damned.

He stood up, needing to get away from your gentle hand. You sat up a little to help him tug down his boxers, careful of that shaky hand of his, and his cock sprang free, dripping precum on the floor. Aki, ever the gentleman, laid you back down on his bed with ease, holding your stare as he spread your legs wide for him. He breathed, praying to whatever god placed you in front of him that he wouldn’t cum prematurely. He couldn't remember the last time he had sex, but he was so desperate for you that all he cared about was not tainting this moment, this dream. 

Aki grasped his cock, giving it a few hard pumps and grunting, before positioning himself at your entrance. You both seemed to hold your breath as he finally slid in, just an inch at first, and the two of you seemed to release that shaky, nervous breath. “Oh, fuck,” he groaned, burying himself further in your tight warmth, bracing his elbows beside your head. 

“Keep going,” you begged. “It’ll fit, Aki. Promise.”

You were going to kill him, he was sure of it. Aki had felt the way you squeezed his fingers, but it was nothing compared to pleasure of being inside you, feeling how tight you really were. So much better than his hand. Once he was fully seated inside you, he opened his eyes just to look into yours. Your lips pursed, legs wrapping around his waist once again, and you slowly nodded for him to continue. His cock twitched.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” he muttered, sliding out of you before slamming back in. You cried out, carding your fingers in his hair, and he molded his face in the crook of your neck to muffle his own whimpers. You just felt so, so good – so good that he could cry. To think that his bed had once been so cold, so lonely, but now you were occupying the space, trembling underneath him as his cock slipped in and out of you. 

Your moans were like gospel. For so long, Aki had been used to loud noise: to Denji’s complaints, to Power’s shouting, to the Devils’ in his ear. But now, it was just you two on the altar of your apartment, silent except for your heavy breaths mingling and the sound of car horns outside. You were wet and slick like holy water, taking him so nicely despite his size, and god – it was like you were made for him and he was made for you. 

You tugged on his hair, needing him so badly even though he was already yours to begin with. He really would have you any way you wanted. All you had to do was ask.

Aki was already so close to release, but he needed you to cum with him. As he fucked into you harder, deeper, his cock curving against that spot that made your eyes roll back, he reached in between you two and found that swollen bundle of nerves in the apex of your thighs. “Aki,” you whined, tears pricking at your eyes as he rubbed your clit. He could die happily now that he heard your voice like that in his ear, knowing it was him that made it happen.

“Yes?” He said, breathless, placing sloppy kisses on your jaw. You clung to him, melting into him like ice cream on a hot summer’s day. “I’m so close. Are you close, angel?”

You whimpered at the nickname. “Almost.”

“Almost?” He fingers went a little faster. “Let’s get you there.”

As his two fingers rubbed tight, small circles on your clit, he angled his cock inside of you so that he could brush your G-spot with every thrust. You were now clutching onto him with all the strength you had left, entwining your body with his and feeling his muscles flex against your stomach. He was so deep now and you were so close and oh my god, Aki Hayakawa had you like putty in his hands.

And it was like he knew it without you even saying it. Because as your walls started to clench around him, he whispered into your ear. “Cum for me, angel. Please, please, need to cum with you.”

Your body convulsed, going tight around his cock as you came. Tears streamed down your cheeks and you called out his name, spurring him to fuck into you faster, reaching his own peak in the middle of yours. He groaned deep into your neck, hips stuttering as he spilled himself inside of you. You kept your legs around his waist, not wanting to miss a drop, and arched yourself against him, coming down from the high of your intense orgasm. Aki was still rubbing your clit slowly, whispering praises into your skin like, “Did so good me … So pretty … Could listen to you cum for hours.”

You two laid like that for a while, feeling his cock soften inside you, panting heavily against each other. Once he finally pulled out of you, your combined releases dripping down your thighs, you laid beside each other on his bed and stared at the ceiling. The silence was comforting, until he whispered, “Please, tell me that wasn’t all a dream.”

Turning your head, you smiled at him. “Do you feel this?” You pinched his arm.

Aki flinched. “Ow.”

“Definitely not a dream,” you chuckled.

[emilys-bangs]

lethargic | emily prentiss x reader

Tags: fluff, established relationship, stubborn (and sleepy) reader, use of petnames, no use of yn

Summary: anon prompt - R is a wee bit sleep deprived-- perhaps they're working hard on a case, and Em just drags them off to go cuddle and sleep

Word count: 1k

The cold air is a sharp contrast to Emily’s steaming skin as she walks out of the bathroom. Her skimpy attire of a cotton camisole and short shorts hardly defends against the cold; goosebumps rise on her bare arms, a small shiver going through her as she shuts the bathroom door behind her and glances around her room. 

You’re not on the bed like she expected you to be. Emily frowns.

“Babe?” She calls out as she leaves the room, padding into the hallway where the lights are still on.

“Here,” you answer, your voice audibly distracted. And a fair bit drowsy, too.

Emily’s bare feet are silent on the floor as she follows the sound of your voice, finally finding you when she walks into the living room. You’re on the couch, bent over the open files on the coffee table.

“Hey,” she frowns, “what are you doing? It’s late.”

You tiredly rub your eye. “Jus’ wanted to finish this,” you mumble, not looking up at her as your pen flies across the page. Emily walks over to the couch and peers down into the file, frowning deeper when she finds a half-finished report for the case you just came back from an hour ago.

She’s surprised, but she honestly shouldn’t be. Your work ethic is intense and—to her—ridiculous at times, so situations like these are not uncommon every once in a while.

“It’s not the time for that, hon.” She bends to kiss your temple, placing her hand on top of yours and gently stalling your writing. Her wet hair drapes over your head, skimming your cheek, “With me, c’mon.” She murmurs into your skin.

You shake your head. “Wanna do it while it’s still fresh.” The words twist around a yawn you try—in vain—to conceal.

Emily’s lips leave your forehead as she looks down at you. She gently hooks her finger under your chin and tilts your face up, stifling a smile when you blink at her with drowsy, half-lidded eyes.

“I hardly think it’s fresh when you can barely see ten paces in front of you. C’mon, chérie, did you body-swap with Hotch or something? Up.” She pulls the pen from your fingers and tosses it somewhere on the floor. You frown and Emily ignores it, wrapping both hands around your own and forcefully tugging you up.

You resist, but she digs her heels into the floor and pulls harder, forcing you to stumble up from the couch. She steadies you when you half-crash into her. 

“Emily, I need’ta finish it,” you protest as she links her fingers through yours.

“You will finish it,” she drags you to the bedroom, not even bothering to turn off the living room lights, “tomorrow. Now we need to sleep. God knows we’ve been awake long enough.” Her words escape in a low mutter. The case was long and tiring; all her weary bones want to do is sink into your embrace, curl around you so tight she can’t tell where she ends and you begin. Instead you’re doing paperwork. 

Paperwork that can very much wait until tomorrow.

Emily drags you into the room and very firmly shuts the door. You’re grumbling under your breath so she turns, drops your hand, and surges forward to wrap her arms around your neck.

“Cuddle me,” she demands.

A low chuckle tickles the skin of her neck. Emily stifles the urge to shiver as you hold her back, tightly despite your reluctance.

“So demanding,” you yawn, your face falling into her collarbone. Your lashes flutter against her skin; you sink into her, your chest brushing hers, and she doesn’t know who’s holding who up.

“And you’re so stubborn.” She returns, tilting her head to catch your lips with hers. You sigh into the kiss, your fingers digging into the warm skin of her midriff. The soft cotton of her camisole scrapes against your harsh work button-down. “I don’t think even Hotch has his own report done.” She mumbles against your lips. 

“Please,” you scoff, “he writes them on the plane.”

“Well, he’s Unit Chief. You’re,”—kiss—“not.” Emily’s lips trace yours. Another kiss goes to the corner of your mouth, “And thank fuck for that.”

You hum, the vibrations of it traveling from your mouth to hers. “’M so tired.” The confession comes out slurred, adorably so. 

Emily bites back a smile. 

“Are you?” She brushes the hair away from your sleepy eyes. “I hadn’t noticed. Sit down.” She nudges you backward in the direction of the bed, dropping a soft kiss on your lips, “I’ll get you your pjs.”

Thankfully, you don’t protest. Not even when she starts unbuttoning your shirt and not when she helps you wriggle into your pajamas. When you slide beneath the sheets with no complaints, Emily lets out a low sigh, both relieved and content as she nestles right into your arms.

The slip of the cold sheets is soothing on her bare skin. She hooks a leg over your hip, sliding her hand into your hair when you nuzzle into her neck. Her finger lazily twists around a lock of hair.

“You smell nice,” you say, your voice muffled and drowsy.

Emily smiles at the compliment. “Just showered. Like you should’ve been doing.”

“Hmm. T’morrow,” you mumble.

“Tomorrow.” she kisses your forehead. Once, then twice, for good measure. “Goodnight, chérie.”

“Love you.” You whisper.

“Love you back.”

As you curl into her, your hand slipping under her camisole to rest on her skin and your lashes gently fluttering closed against her jaw, both Emily’s wishes are fulfilled. She stays awake only a little longer than you do, taking a few brief minutes to soak in the warmth of your body against hers. A few more ghostly kisses to your forehead, a twirl or two of your hair around her index finger, and soon after that she’s tumbling into the swift darkness of sleep.

taglist: @suckerforcate @sickoherd @lextism

[mellifiedprincess]

anotha one😝 this fic is pure crack honestly, it’s not my best work and i was sleep deprived and wrote this in like 20 minutes, soooo keep that in mind. i also imagined the reader being super short in this, because i may have a wee bit of a size kink (don’t tell anyone🤭) but like how cute would ethan look with a partner that’s like 4’11 compared to his 6’1 ass. AGHHH I CANT

Ethan Landry x Reader

Nap time

Everyone who knew you, knew that there was only one thing in this world that could rival your love for Ethan. And that was napping. You couldn’t help that you were a sleepy girl. You were lucky enough too, that you could nap anywhere. Whether it be your head resting on a hard countertop, the lap of one of your friends, you were even found asleep on the stairs in your parents home once.

Unfortunately though, as of lately, you haven’t been able to sleep that well. And you knew exactly what the cause of this was from, well more of WHO the cause of this was from. Ethan fucking Landry. The boy with the loveliest doe eyes, the boy with the sweetest smile, the boy that stole your heart all those months ago and has told you he was never giving it back.

But he didn’t just steal your heart, no, he stole your ability of napping anywhere your little heart desired.

You couldn’t nap without him anymore.

Of course it wasn’t all his fault, you were the one to snuggle up to him, thinking you were only going to ‘rest’ your eyes for a few seconds. Those few seconds turned into two hours. You couldn’t help it. He was just so warm and smelled so good. It certainly didn’t help that he was running his fingers through your hair while softly humming in your ear. Anyone would have fallen under his spell and drifted off in minutes, if they had been in the position you were in. At least that’s what yoy keep telling yourself.

You had also, by now, convinced yourself he did all of it on purpose.

Which is why you’ve been glaring at him for the past seven minutes. You were sleepy, and all you wanted was to lay your sweet little head down and take a nap. But when your head hits the soft pillow on Ethan’s bed, you find yourself not able to fall asleep. You knew in your head all you needed to do was ask Ethan to come lay down with you, and he would. He would do absolutely anything you asked of him. But you were furious with him. Furious that his conspiracy against you has worked.

“Baby, we’ve talked about how you have to tell me when I’ve upset you, otherwise I won’t know how to fix it.” He wasn’t even looking at you, he had his back towards you while he worked at his desk. “I can quite literally feel the heat from your eyes, angel.” “Well my eyes would be closed and I would be fast asleep, taking my much needed nap if you wouldn’t have ruined them for me.” You grumble out, arms crossed, brows furrowed, adorable pout present.

He drops his pencil at that, confusion wasn’t a strong enough word to describe what Ethan felt. “How did I ruin your nap?” His voice raises an octave higher out of disbelief, and he finally turns to look at you. “I’ve been quiet this whole time and you have quite literally fallen asleep at frat parties before, where it was much more chaotic. I had to nearly tackle someone to stop them from sitting on you.”

“Don’t act like you don’t know what you did!” You yell as you jump up, standing on Ethan’s bed and pointing an accusing finger at him. His brown eyes widen, not sure if you’re just having one of your ‘moments’ as he likes to call them, or if you’ve actually lost your mind. “I don’t though, that’s why I asked you to tell me.” At his remark, you ball your fists up, throwing them down at your side, all while making the cutest grumbling sound.

Ethan stands from his chair, coming to stand in front of you at his bed. Since you’re standing on his bed, you’re looking down at him. His hands grab yours, unballing your “threatening” fists, and he’s pleading with his eyes. “Tell me what I did so I can make up for it.” After a few seconds you throw your head back with a loud groan, before dramatically falling forward to be caught by Ethan, wrapping your arms and legs around him completely. “I can’t nap without you.” You all but cry out, still holding a menacing stare as your forehead touches his.

He laughs. He laughs right in your face. “Stop laughing at me!” You push his face away from yours, squirming in his arms trying but failing to get away from him. “Awe, I’m sorry baby. What can I do to help?” To anyone else, he would sound patronizing, but you knew he genuinely was sorry and wanted to make you feel better.

“Don’t you need to finish your homework?” Your eyes glance over at the anatomy worksheet, and then back to Ethan. “Yeah, well I think my baby needs me more. So, I’m not worried about that right now.” You grin at his words, placing a sweet kiss to his lips, before pulling away pretending to look deep in thought. He already knows what you need, he also knows you’re just too scared to ask. All because you got in your own head about how dependent you’ve become of him. He loved it. He loved that you needed him just for the smallest of things like taking a nap.

“Do you want me to lay down with you while you nap? I’ll even hold your hand the entire time, if you want.” You giggle at that, already feeling much more relaxed. “What if I want to wrap myself around you like a koala? Would you let me do that?”

“You’re already the size of one, so why not?”

“Ethan!”

You’re pouting again, and he could only smile because you were just too fucking cute. “Okay! Okay! I’m done.” He pushes a few strands of hair out of your face, and grabs your chin, placing a few kisses to your pouted lips.

“Can we lay down now? You’ve been standing here holding me for like 10 minutes now, your arms have to hurt by now.”

“Baby.” He says with disbelief. “I’ve held you for way longer than 10 minutes, while we were doing something a lot more physically demanding.” Your cheeks immediately flush red at his words. Hiding your face in his neck. “Don’t get all shy on me now. You were just yelling at me 10 minutes ago about ruining your naps.” He couldn’t help but tease you, it was just too easy.

“Ethan, stop it.” You mumble out. He laughs again, but finally moves to sit you back down on his bed. You climb to the top, and wait for Ethan to join you. He goes to slip under the blanket with you, but you stop him. “No! You have to take your clothes off!” He holds his hands out in front of him, in a defensive manner. “Someone’s not so shy now. You need me to tire you out or something?”

You roll your eyes at your dumb boyfriend, and watch as he removes his tshirt and jeans. “I meant so I could sleep on you more comfortably, you perv!” “You’re calling me a perv, after asking me to strip and defile you?”

You open and close your mouth “I didn’t ask-“ You stop, exhaling sharply through your nose. “Please, E, just get in the damn bed.” “I’m coming, jeez!” Finally, he lays down beside you, and before you could move, he turns and wraps his arms around your body, an innocent grin on his pretty lips. And you can already feel your eyes grow heavy, as his fingers begin to trail up and down your spine and he presses soft kisses to your temple.

“Get some rest, sweet girl, because I will be defiling you when you wake up.” His tone is light and playful.

“Ethannn, can you stop being such a horny teenage boy for two seconds?” Your tone is annoyed. “Yeah, as long as you’re around, that’s not happening.”

“You’re such a whore.” Ethan laughs at your remark, squeezing you even closer, if possible, to his body. He’s finally quiet after that, besides the soft humming coming from his lips.

And he would never admit this to you, but he was having trouble sleeping without you by his side too. He loved the weight of you on his chest, the way your hair smelled. He especially loved when you would take his hand in yours, all while still sleeping, and hold it to your chest. You would hold it so tight sometimes he would lose feeling in his fingers.

He didn’t care though. Because he loved you and all of those things produced a warm, comfortable feeling he never received as a child.

So, he would lay there for hours, and watch the rise and fall of your chest, and listen to the soft snores leave your mouth. All without a single complaint.

[fishsinsareacknowledged]

Fuck I need some stalker Nikto please. Like reders all for it but loves his roughness when she fights a little.

You my good sire are getting thoughts because I can't sleep simply cause of this ask and also because I'm sleep deprived. Also I kinda don't understand it and have been deciphering it for over an hour so it's not gonna be 100% what you wanted but either way ly <3

Chase — Nikto x reader - reader pov

Stalker Nikto who follows you home from a night out at a bar. What should've been a simple lonely night out turned into a horror mission the moment you spotted the man. Nevertheless you knew the moment you saw those eyes and turned around, trying to feign ignorance will not push him away. Nothing will.

So what could you do? Run? He would catch you with those meaty calves and thighs.

Fight? You saw those arms, you're done for.

But you won't go down without a fight. Impulsively you throw a bottle, glass and heavy, a danger in all it's might against the masked stranger. And it fucking bounces.

Whatever he has as his mask is pure bullshit, maybe metal or plastic or a mix. Ah, no time to think you have to run.

A step back before you're full on running. Dashing away like your life depends on it because it does. Somewhere somehow you know it deep in your very bones. If he catches you, death is absolute.

And so you run. But it doesn't last long.

A body far too heavy for it to be anything the likes of feathers. Nothing soft or pure could be described of what just landed on you. Pure mass making every inch of your body squeak and bend with a sickening thud, knees bruising, maybe bleeding.

But ah, the sick bastard likes it. You can see his eyes glimmer when you fight. A punch straight in his face and you swear he laughs. Fucking psychopath.

And of course he gets the upper hand. Grabbing your wrists as you struggle and struggle, the disgusting shine in the monsters eyes reflecting the fear of yours.

"Struggle all you want."

His voice barks out, nothing similar to what a humans voice should be. All rough and rained like a mutt in the rain, rotting and vile as he laughs and laughs and you swear you can feel a shiver going down your spine.

A shiver of fear or arousal maybe you should get your head checked. Maybe it'll stop you from getting into situations like this and calling the police beforehand. Stupid, stupid girl.

××××××××××××××××××××××x x××××××××××××××××××××××

Ps: If ya want to send requests please be low-key specific sometimes my brain is a wee bit tired when writing so I might get it wrong.

Masterlist

[its-time-to-write]

This may be a bit of a strange idea (Feel free to ignore this request)

But since your about Jaime Tartt baby fic. I had the thought of Jaime trying to give reader a break takes the baby in a stroller to training with Roy and Roy is just kind of like WTF and other hijinks ensue like maybe someone flirts with Jamie with the baby or roy gets left with the baby at somepoint or Reader is freaken out cause the baby is gone. IDK just an idea that has been stuck in my head since I read your baby fic

Dude this request was not strange AT ALL. It was actually nice because it was similar to something I wanted to write, and I haven’t been able to do that because I’ve been doing requests. THANK YOU.

i’ll still be right next to you my dear

Your daughter Bea is five months old. You’re still sleep-deprived, but less than you were a month ago. Jamie does his absolute best as her dad and your husband, but the weight of it still falls to you. Things have gotten considerably less tense, too, since you moved out of the flat and back into your house. It was weird at first, both you and Jamie walking on little eggshells around each other. 

The tension was broken with an all-hands-on-deck moment at 1am, when Bea had a stomach bug or something, and you two had no choice but to just laugh in resignation at the sheer enormity of the mess she made. There go the beginnings of sleep training. 

Bea had her own schedule, one that involved being an early bird like her dad. She would wake up five to ten minutes before his 3:30 alarm went off, and it got to the point where he barely even set it anymore. 

Jamie would get out of bed, throw on some pants, change her, and then zip through his morning routine. He’d put her back to bed, give you a half-awake kiss, then be out the door before Roy could knock. 

(Roy made that mistake early on, waking Bea. You thoroughly chewed him out in an exhausted rage. Jamie says it’s the closest thing he’s ever seen to Roy crying).

Anyway, at 3:55 this Saturday morning, Jamie kisses you, says, “I’ve got Bea, so sleep in,” and is gone before you even know what’s happening. 

You flop back on the pillow and are out in seconds. 

—

“The fuck is this?” Roy says the moment Jamie steps out the door, pushing a happy Bea in her jogging stroller.

“The fuck does it look like?” Jamie replies. “Her mum needed sleep, so Bea’s joining us for training.” He leans over the stroller to look at his daughter and coos, “Isn’t that right, angel?”

Bea makes a delighted gurgle and Roy grunts.

“Oh come on, don’t tell me the great Uncle Roy is daunted by a silly wee baby?” Jamie says, grinning. “You are Bea’s favorite.”

Roy glares at Jamie. “Don’t fucking lie to me, everyone knows Sam’s her fucking favorite. She even likes fucking Isaac better than me.”

Jamie pouts. “Don’t listen to him, Bea. We know you love Uncle Roy, even though he’s being a twat.”

Roy just grunts and looks at Bea. “You know how I feel about you, kid,” he says. She babbles. She knows. 

“Alright, come on. Suppose the stroller gives your dad some extra weight while he runs.”

Jamie grins, and starts jogging down the street.

—

You wake up to the sound of silence. No Bea, no Jamie. Just birds chirping and the sun shining. You squint at the clock. 8:37am. You reach for your phone and see a selfie from Jamie of him, Bea, and Roy marked 7:02am with the caption, headed to breakfast! 

You now have a hazy recollection of Jamie saying something about taking Bea when he left, but it felt like a dream at the time. The silence makes more sense now. 

You smile and send heart emojis. I love you! you type. 

love u 2, Jamie replies. Then: I hope that was for me not Roy?

You shake your head. That boy. He thinks he’s a comedian.

You roll out of bed and stretch. Time for a nice, long shower, then a good coffee from Jamie’s complementary espresso machine. You’re not gonna lie, there are certain perks to being married to a footballer.

—

Meanwhile, Jamie and Roy have stopped for breakfast at a café that Roy says fits in with Jamie’s diet. He says no coffee and Jamie makes a disgusted face and replies you’re not the boss of me, which is why they’re letting Bea decide if Jamie gets coffee or not by seeing who will get her to smile first. 

Jamie wins, of course. It’s part of being a dad. 

They’re sitting at a table outside till 9am, Bea out of her stroller and in Jamie’s arms. They’re on their third cups of coffee and Bea’s draining her bottle of formula like there’s no tomorrow. Jamie is in the middle of stroking Bea’s nose (a miniature version of yours) and watching her eyes blink slow, when two girls walk up to their table. 

“Ohmygod, no way, is that your baby?” one girl asks. 

Jamie looks up and gives a polite, perfunctory, “yeah,” and turns back to Bea. Roy’s sitting back in his seat, ready to watch this unfold. 

“It is like, so totally adorable. There’s something so sweet about a baby, don’t you think?” the other girl says, putting her hand on Jamie’s shoulder. He shifts away as politely as he can. 

“I just think that like, men with babies are so much hotter than men without babies,” girl 1 continues, oblivious to Jamie, who has shifted Bea onto his chest and is displaying his left hand as conspicuously as possible. He taps Bea’s back with his ring finger in what he hopes is an absentminded manner. 

Roy holds back a snort.

“Especially single dads,” says girl 2. “Soo hot. I’ll give you my number if you ever need a babysitter.”

She’s barely done speaking when Jamie blurts out, “I’m married.” He looks so harried that this time Roy can’t hold back a laugh. The girls turn to him with a glare, then back to Jamie. 

“She doesn’t have to know,” says one of them. 

“Pretty sure she does,” Jamie replies. “And anyway, I ain’t interested. Have a good morning.”

Bea, the angel that she is chooses that exact moment to start burping. 

The girls give her a disgusted look and turn away. 

Roy looks at Jamie, eyebrows raised and a ghost of a smile on his face. “Nice fucking move with the ring finger,” he says. “If it were me, I’d’ve fucking given them a different fucking finger.”

“That’s where you and me differ, granddad,” Jamie replies, wiping spit up off his vest (waterproof, thank god), “I’m a gentleman.”

Roy rolls his eyes and shakes his head. 

— 

The windows are open, the laundry is spinning, and you’re dancing around the house. You love Bea, but god you also love good rest. And a clean house. And Jamie Tartt. Man, you love him. You can’t believe he took Bea out for the whole morning and knowing him and Roy, they’ll be out until at least 11am. You smile. That gives you time to head to the shops and pick up some flowers, which will make you feel like a civilized human being, one who has her life together and can take care of her child and her husband and maybe, just maybe, one who is in the mood to get laid tonight. 

—

Jamie and Roy are strolling through Richmond, passing by shops and enjoying what feels like the first lovely day in ages. Jamie hasn’t heard from you since you asked is this shirt clean or dirty? with a picture near the washing machine. He knows Saturday cleaning is like a ritual to you, one you picked up in high school and carried on through college. You have a system and you take your time, windows open and music playing. He can picture you spinning around the house putting things away, and that mental image is enough to make his face split into a smile. He remembers the Saturdays you spent before Bea, you cleaning and dancing, and him, well, not helping but certainly dancing with you and promising that he’ll give you more dirty sheets to wash if you’d just take a tiny little break? In the bedroom? With no clothes on because they need to be washed, wink wink?

It usually worked. 

You’d lay in bed for precisely ten minutes afterward, take a no-nonsense shower, then kick him out of the house. He’d be gone for an hour, buying you that chocolate you liked and whatever flowers he thought suited the day. There’s a good thought. He should get you flowers, a reminder of their early days of romance. And maybe, just maybe, Bea can sleep soundly enough that they can revive other traditions, too. 

“Roy,” Jamie begins.

“No.”

“Oi, you didn’t even let me finish!” he says indignantly.

“Fine. What do you fucking want.”

“It ain’t for me,” Jamie says, “it’s for Bea. And my wife. I want to get her flowers, but it ain’t easy to push the stroller and look. Can you take Bea around the green? I’ll come find ya when I’m done.”

Roy stares at Jamie, and Jamie is sure he’s going to say no. But then Roy walks around to the front of the stroller and crouches down in front of Bea. 

“If your dad fucking goes and gets flowers for your mum, do you promise to be alright for twenty minutes? I know I’m not fucking Sam or Isaac, but Phoebe thinks I’m a good uncle. She’s a proper fucking dweeb, but a good judge of character.”

Bea just stares at him. Roy slaps his thighs and stands up. “Alright,” he says. “Let’s go.”

Jamie grins and says, “Bye, Beatrice. Be good for Uncle Roy.” He gives her a kiss on her forehead, a boop on the nose, and is gone, weaving through Richmond, man on a mission. 

“Your mum’s a fucking saint for putting up with him,” Roy says to Bea. Bea says nothing. She’s fallen asleep. Roy shrugs and starts pushing her in the direction of the green. Better asleep than crying. 

—

You’re showered, dressed, with just a touch of makeup, and you’re on your way to the flower shop. There’s this little one you and Jamie used to go to. You know the owner a little, but you suppose Jamie knows her better because he’s been in more. She’s about the age of his mum, and has a soft spot for him. He overpays and always leaves one flower for her. He hasn’t had the time to be over since Bea, so you say hello and show her some baby pictures, and then some of Bea and Jamie. You both laugh over your favorite, Jamie passed out on the couch, mouth open, wearing gray sweatpants and a single sock, with Bea on his stomach in a gray onesie and a single sock. She’s drooling on him and his hair’s a mess, but you think it’s adorably hilarious. Like father, like daughter. 

Now, you’re perusing the flowers. It smells wonderful, the warm weather diffusing the fragrances through the shop. You turn a corner and bonk straight into a man with his back turned to you. You open your mouth to apologize and he turns, and out comes, “Jamie?”

He smiles and you peer behind him. “Where’s Bea? Oh my god Jamie, did you lose our daughter? She had better be close by, I swear to god, Jamie Tartt, how do you lose an entire baby, especially one as noisy as Bea?!” 

You’re oblivious to Jamie’s attempts to interrupt your rant, so when you pause for a breath he says, “love.”

You turn to face him, from where you were trying to stand on your tiptoes hoping for a glimpse of Bea’s stroller. 

“I didn’t lose her. She’s with Roy. D’you really think I’m that irresponsible?” 

He looks so hurt that you realize what you’ve been saying. Your hands fly up to your mouth. Of course Jamie wouldn’t lose Bea. He loves her. He looks at her as though she makes the stars shine. 

“Babe. I’m so sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. I just wasn’t expecting to see you, and then I wasn’t expecting to see you without Bea, and I thought I’d surprise you by getting flowers before you both got back, and-” you stop. Jamie is gently holding your face and smiling, no longer hurt. 

“Babe,” he says, “love of me life and best mum around, it’s ok. I know whatcha mean.” He tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “Bit funny we had the same idea, innit?”

You smile. You’d been so caught up in your split-second worry about Bea, you didn’t even realize what was happening. 

“Guess some things don’t change,” you reply. “You pick out any good ones?”

Jamie places his hand over his heart. “Love. I only pick out good ones. I picked you, didn’t I?” You laugh at his sparkling eyes, and put your hands on his waist, pulling him close. 

“Pretty sure I picked you,” you reply. 

Jamie hums. “That’s a fuckin lie, and you know it.”

Your feeble retort is cut off by his lips on yours. 

—

You and Jamie walk toward the green, hand in hand. He’s holding bright yellow daffodils in the other. 

Jamie spots Roy first. “Oi!” he yells, “look who I found!”

You wave, jog over to Bea, and crouch down. “Hi baby! I missed you! Did you have fun with Uncle Roy?” Bea babbles at the sound of your voice. 

“Oh good,” you reply, “he is your third-favorite uncle, after all.”

Roy nods. “You fucking get it. Jamie tried to feed me this fucking bullshit that I was fucking number one.”

“Jamie!” you say. “Everyone knows it goes Sam, then Isaac, then Roy.”

Jamie puts his hands up defensively. 

“Honesty,” Roy says, “Such an admirable quality. Remind me again why you’re with this fucking prick?”

You pretend to think for a moment then say, “For his money.”

Jamie says “Oi!” so you quickly amend, “And his smokin’ hot body.”

Jamie nods, satisfied. “That’s better.”

Roy is looking at Jamie in disgust. “You two are so fucking adorable, it’s fucking disgusting. C’mon Bea. I see Sam over by that bench. Let’s give these fucking idiots some time alone.”

You and Jamie turn to each other. 

“He said we’re adorable,” you say, grinning. 

“He said we get alone time,” Jamie says, grinning back. 

“Roy!” you call, “how much time do we have?”

“Three hours!” Sam yells back. “I want to walk Bea to my restaurant!”

You and Jamie turn back to each other, giddy. 

“You know what that means,” you say. 

“Sex,” he replies immediately. 

You laugh and grab his hand. “C’mon, babe. Let’s enjoy our alone time.”

As you walk away, Jamie says, “Oi, need to tell you about these girls who were trying to flirt with me. But don’t worry, I gave them the finger.” He holds up his ring finger and you slap his arm. 

“This is why I love you.”

“Really? And here I only thought you were with me for my money,” he replies. 

“And your hot body. Don’t forget that one,” you say. 

“How could I forget?” he says. “When we get home, let’s put it to some good use.

[danaewrites]

you with the dark curls (you with the watercolor eyes)

part ii: i wanna hear you speak to me

james potter x reader // read it on AO3

word count: 3.6k

summary: “Falling in love with your best friend was never a good idea, but you’d managed to do the idiot thing anyway, carrying a torch for a boy who would never look past Lily’s emerald eyes to see the watercolor ones that had always been by his side.”

tags: best friends to lovers, angst with a happy ending, based on the song "dear arkansas daughter" by lady lamb, fem!reader

author's notes: new year, new chapter! i started writing this one back in SEPTEMBER and finally had enough time away from the terrors of calculus homework to finish it. thanks for reading my story so far and i hope you enjoy this incredibly self-indulgent chapter, because i had way too much fun writing it!! i promise that the angst in this chapter *will* be resolved, but it was too deliciously tempting to resist sprinkling a wee bit of hurt/comfort and dramatics in there as well. sorry not sorry!

read it all here: part i, part ii, part iii (coming soon!)

“I’ve got no bloody clue how Dumbledore can be so energetic all the time,” you groaned, head in your hands as you peeked out at the headmaster’s more-than-slightly manic grin from your seat at the Gryffindor breakfast table. You were far too sleep-deprived to process his latest choice of garish attire: a bright chartreuse robe covered in plaid polka dots, topped off with what appeared to be rhinestones and tinsel attached to his beard.

Perhaps if Kettleburn hadn’t assigned you three feet of parchment on the seventeen glorious properties of dragon dung yesterday and expected it done by this afternoon, you might have appreciated the headmaster’s creative fashion choices– oh, who were you kidding. There really was no understanding that wizard, even properly rested. James and Peter had made a bet during fifth year on how long it’d take Dumbledore to crack under a constant deluge of pranks in his office, but they’d quickly realized that the man was too far gone to do anything but take inspiration for school events– an idea that was quite frankly, comically frightening, and the sort of thing you weren’t keen on pondering on a normal Tuesday morning.

Sirius wrinkled his nose sympathetically and slid the pile of raspberry jam tarts closer to you. “Late night in the library again?”

You nodded sheepishly, gratefully taking a pastry from the pile. “I honestly don’t know why Pince allows me to stay past curfew. Marauder’s luck, I guess?” Your attention was diverted by the sound of hoots and flapping wings as the morning owl brigade arrived, apparently choosing a kamikaze dive-bomb approach to deliver this morning’s newspapers. Ah, the joys of living at the world’s most advanced magical school.

Sirius, ever the epitome of grace, slipped under the table as a rogue owl zipped past, popping himself back up just enough to throw you finger guns. “Exactly right, doll, exactly right,” he grinned. “Trust me, Marauder’s luck gets you everywhere. And I mean everywhere,” he winked, sending you a lecherous smirk.

“Ew, Sirius, I don’t even want to know,” you sniffed. “I’ve learned my lesson after the mental trauma your tales of Dorcas’ birthday adventures inflicted upon my psyche. Please, spare me the details.”

“What? All I meant was Slughorn’s Christmas Party, of course!” He batted his eyelashes angelically, still partially covered by the tablecloth.

Your mouth gaped open in shock. “Last year’s Christmas party? Sirius Orion Black, I refuse to hear another word! What on earth would your ancestors think, with you bragging about such exploits-”

He leaned over, eyes wide with laughter. “No, I meant the one Slughorn is throwing on the 21st, it’s exclusively for us lucky seventh years this time. Although, you bring up some very fond memories… okay, okay, I’ll stop, don’t kick me–”

“What are we kicking Sirius for?” James slid onto the bench across from you, eyeing a groveling Sirius with interest. Peter joined him, but wisely chose to stay away from the ruckus, piling his plate high with the bacon the owls had spared. Remus was noticeably absent, spending the morning resting in the infirmary after a rough night of shifting– which you assumed was much more peaceful than the current chaos at the Gryffindor breakfast table.

“Oh! Good morning, Jamie,” you beamed up at him, passing him the plate of desserts you’d been protecting from Sirius’ nefarious advances. “Morning, dove,” he greeted you, and then paused. “Ha, get it? Morning dove?” He puffed up his chest smugly and nudged Sirius with his elbow in a futile effort to make him laugh. You huffed fondly at his antics. Boys.

Sirius rolled his eyes and took advantage of your momentary distraction, retreating back onto his seat to nurse his wounds– to your ever-growing delight (and Sirius’ woe), you had recently discovered that the Hogwarts girls’ uniform shoes were quite sharp. “At this point we should call you Lames. ‘Cause your puns are lame,” he muttered.

You shooed him away with a brush of your hand, remembering what Sirius had mentioned earlier. “According to Sirius, Slughorn’s hosting a Christmas Party again this year. Let’s pray it won’t be like the last one.” You muttered. James and Peter both looked vaguely ill at the prospect, shuddering in unison. “My tie will never look the same again,” Peter griped, but suddenly sat up straight in his seat. “Hey, wait, we’re finally old enough to bring dates to this one! Without sneaking them in, I mean.” 

Sirius snickered and lightly punched his shoulder. “Why, Petey, got some lucky girl in mind?” Peter reddened and glanced over at the Hufflepuff table, where a certain freckled blonde was chatting with her friends– a move that didn’t go unnoticed by James, who gave a delighted wolf-whistle. “You got a thing for Lucy Abbott, huh? Might want to make a move before Smith does,” he grinned, gesturing to the tall brunette boy who’d just arrived and sharing a knowing smirk with you. You giggled at Peter’s increasingly pouty expression; he’d figure out sooner or later that Smith was definitely not interested in Abbott– or witches in general– but it was entertaining to see him out of his comfort zone. Peter had always been the quietest of your little group, and you privately thought that a bit of momentary romantic angst might spur him to be more assertive. An ironic opinion, considering how your own love life revolved around the fact that your best friend had feelings for someone else… and you couldn’t do anything about it except mope.

Peter scowled. “Easy for you to say, Prongs, you’ve finally got precious Lily-flower wrapped around your finger. I bet you’ve already asked her!”

There it was: another reminder that James wasn’t yours, and never would be. You watched as the Gryffindor boys good-naturedly jostled his shoulder and tousled his curls. James grinned sheepishly, shrugging off their teasing. “Not yet,” he admitted, glancing hopefully at the end of the table, where Lily was chatting with her friends. 

Peter rolled his eyes. “Aw, come on, we all know she’ll say yes this year.” Sirius winced, looking at you out of the corner of his eye. Peter glanced at Sirius, drawn by the movement. “What’ve you got to worry about? Half the population would kill Dumbledore to get one dance with you. The only person who’s got to worry about a date is me– well, and maybe Y/n, I guess.” His face suddenly turned contemplative, looking you up and down. “Are you going with someone?” 

Sirius’ grimace became doubly pronounced at Peter’s tactlessness, and you felt your face heating up. Peter had a way of accidentally hitting on the issues others tried to hide. It wasn’t his fault he’d never heard about your trips to Hogsmeade with a paramour– in fact, none of the boys had. Because there hadn’t been any. You’d spent your entire time at Hogwarts pining after James, and as a result had missed the romantic milestones your classmates had already blissfully bragged about. 

Peter looked at you expectantly, waiting for a response, and you opened your mouth to confess your lack of experience when you spotted a familiar redhead walking gracefully towards your side of the table– to James, you realized with a start. Something within you ignited as you watched her glow with confidence, carefree and lovely as ever. Lily would never pine after someone uselessly; she knew she could get anyone she wanted with the right amount of banter and flirty gestures. You... Well, you weren’t there quite yet, but maybe it was time to take inspiration from the Muggle saying and ‘fake it til you make it’. And before you could think about what you were about to do, you turned to Peter and smiled coyly. “I might.”

James’ and Sirius’ heads snapped up immediately from their perusal of the breakfast lineup as they let out an identical murmur of surprise. “What?” James furrowed his brow, looking you up and down– seemingly trying to discern whether you had taken a holiday from your senses, most likely via Bludger-induced concussion at the last Quidditch match. Sirius merely raised a questioning eyebrow at you. You groaned internally, knowing that you’d have to explain yourself later… although, if your half-baked idea worked, you’d be spending a lot more time with him anyway. For now, you beamed innocently at both of them and took a sip of your pumpkin juice. Apparently, the Sorting Hat had placed you in Gryffindor for a reason- you were either incredibly brave or incredibly foolish to commit to this plan, but with Evans quickly approaching, you saw no other choice.

Peter looked momentarily shocked, then glumly began to assemble an egg and bacon sandwich seasoned with the occasional mutterance of “unfair” and “perpetually single, my arse”.

James’ eyes were still trained on you. “Who is it?” he asked, searching your face again as if he was looking for some indication that you were joking. You shrugged, trying to look casual. “I guess you’ll just have to find out, won’t you?”

“Dove-” he began, but Lily finally reached his seat and placed one stupidly perfect hand on his shoulder, diverting his attention momentarily. “Sorry to interrupt your breakfast, but Professor McGonagall asked me to bring you to her office for Quidditch scheduling.” James blinked, glancing up at her and then at the rest of the table. He stood up and focused on you again, expression clouded. “I’ll see you in Potions, yeah?”

Sirius stood up quickly, ushering him out of his seat with a speed you’d only seen him use to gulp down cheap Firewhiskey. He gave you a significant look. “Actually, Y/n and I were just about to take a walk, isn’t that right? So we'll both see you in Potions, what a sublime coincidence, now don’t be late for your meeting–” he chattered on as he shoved James toward the doors of the Great Hall, the latter eyeing him suspiciously but moving nonetheless. Sirius turned to you and pointed to the courtyard entryway. “You. Me. Talk, as in right now.”

Once you were sure that you’d made it out of earshot of Peter and the rest of the Gryffindor table, you wheeled around to face him. “Okay. First of all… I didn’t plan that.” Sirius raised an eyebrow again. “Second of all, I need a favour,” you pleaded, staring up at him with the most adorable doe eyes you could physically summon. They were usually most effective on James, for some reason, but you were sure that Sirius wasn’t immune to your manipulation either. He groaned, resting his face in his hands. “How do you even have a date? Last time I checked, also known as yesterday, you were still head over heels for Prongsie, doll. So do I need to check you for Amortentia or somethi–” He peered out from between his fingers with annoyed realization. “You don’t have a date, do you.” 

You blinked innocently up at him. He let out a long-suffering sigh and ran his hands through his hair. “This is what you need the favour for? You want me to go with you to Slughorn’s party so you can pretend in front of the rest of Hogwarts that you’re not madly in love with Jamie?” 

You grinned confidently up at him and slung an arm around his shoulders. “Aw, Siri, you know me so well. It’s almost as if you were maaaade to be my date for the party...” You fluttered your eyelashes up at him one more time for good measure, trying to hide a smirk. “Alright, alright, stop with the Bambi act, I’ll take you.” He scowled good-naturedly. “You know, this is going to ruin my dating pool for the next month.” 

You scoffed. “As if! If anything, you’ll just have more people fawning over you– temptation of the forbidden apple and all, you know.” 

Sirius brightened up considerably at this revelation. “Well, why didn’t you say so in the beginning, doll! I vote that we match in purple velvet, it does wonders for my complexion–”

You gave a very unladylike snort at the thought of you and Sirius swanning into the party in some sort of horrendous plum-coloured disco getup, and shooed him away towards the Potions classroom. That was an eyesore to imagine sometime when you weren’t about to get a headache from the dim dungeon lighting.

Slughorn greeted you and Sirius by directing you to the front of the classroom with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Oho, a pair of latecomers, I see!” He winked at you and Sirius in exaggerated motion. You winced as Snape jeered and nudged Malfoy, who was busy enjoying Flint’s crude gestures at you. Ugh, Slytherin boys. The worst of the lot. Their snickers were quickly stopped by James chucking a handful of powdered wormwood at their heads when Slughorn turned away, making Malfoy’s prized hair appear covered in soot. You shot him a grateful smile. 

“Since you two missed my initial remarks, let’s see if you can make it up by identifying today’s potion, hmm?” Slughorn gestured dramatically to a shimmering green brew in a cauldron next to his desk, cherry-coloured smoke curling off of the top invitingly. 

Sirius shot you a panicked look, clearly not expecting to be put in the academic spotlight, but you shook your head and stepped closer. You smelled something rich and incense-like, which meant that Bumburrel leaves were a key ingredient. And combined with the way the smoke was drifting lazily around your wrists, curling higher and higher… “Brew of Mandelian, sir. Used for sharpened acuity under times of pressure.”

Slughorn gave a delighted chuckle and clapped his hands. “Well then! Ten points to Gryffindor for paying attention in lectures!” He dismissed you and Sirius with a wave, moving on to explain the finer points of ingredient preparation to a very bemused George Goyle as you slipped into your usual seat beside James.

You worked in quiet harmony for a moment, methodically slicing and crushing the slippery beetles needed to give the brew its signature green colour while James handed you the insects. He broke the silence after six beetles (not that you had been counting or anything) with an awkward, “So… you have a, erm, date?”

You huffed, motioning for him to hand you the foul-smelling Moorish tubers next. “Honestly, James, is it that surprising?” He scratched the back of his neck, frowning. “Well, I– yeah, I guess.” he trailed off, seeing your expression. 

“The tubers, Jamie, thank you. I mean, you looked at me like I was a ghost back in the Great Hall!” You were decidedly not making eye contact with him, trying your best to focus on the slimy plants in front of you and not the fact that your best friend-slash-unrequited crush doubted your romantic potential. What a way to be humbled– and while covered in tuber juice, no less!

He huffed, running a hand through his already messy curls. “Come on, Y/n, it’s not like that. What did Sirius want to talk about in the Great Hall, anyway? You two looked… chummy.” 

You glared down at the copper slicing board. “Well, it’s none of your business how chummy we are, is it? I don’t interrogate you every time you converse with Peter. In fact, it’s rather expected that Sirius and I speak to one another on occasion, considering the amount of time we all spend together thanks to you.”

You moved to grab another tuber from the jar, but James reached out and grabbed your hand, forcing you to look at him. His hazel eyes were alight with frustration, a look you knew by heart thanks to the hours you’d spent tutoring him in History of Magic after he napped his way through the entire first semester. “Are you serious? You’re actually going with someone?”

“Please, Jamie, do enlighten me on whyever you think I couldn’t possibly get a date with my numerous and diverse charms,” you sniffed, hoping to Merlin that he would just leave the entire subject alone. 

“No, it’s–” he groaned, leaning back in his seat. “The other boys, they don’t know how– you’re so, I mean, just look at you!” he exclaimed, gesturing at you. He stopped, frowning to himself, looking more confused than before. He glanced over at Lily, expression becoming even more muddled, brow furrowed and hard to read to anyone but you. 

Your mouth parted in shock, and to your dismay you felt tears bubbling up again. You blinked fiercely, refusing to let him see you cry. James thought the issue was… your looks? You suddenly wanted to crawl under Slughorn’s desk and never come out again, except perhaps to find a shovel to dig your grave with. This was far, far worse than watching him transfigure chocolates for Lily every Valentine’s Day. Now you knew for a fact he didn’t find you attractive– thought other boys didn’t either, even! And the way he’d clearly mentally compared you to Lily after what he’d admitted… well. There was no recovering from that. Teenage boys could be dense, but Merlin, how you had wanted him to at least let you down gently. 

You wished you’d never opened your mouth to lie about having a stupid date in the first place, but you forced yourself to laugh and mutter something trite about how that could all be fixed with a couple glamour charms anyway so it really wasn’t an issue for the party, thank you very much. He looked even more confused, opening his mouth to respond, but Snape chose that moment to interrupt.

“Hey, Potter!” James turned to scowl at the greasy Slytherin as you thanked your lucky stars for Snape’s interruption (a rather disturbing thought– potentially a harbinger of an imminent apocalypse. You’d never thanked Snape before in your life and hoped to never do it again). “Here’s payback for earlier,” he smirked, checking that Slughorn had dozed off and the other students weren’t paying attention before whipping a mottled yellow bottle at James.

James’ carefully honed Quidditch reflexes kicked in and he quickly dodged the object, but as the vial soared up, up, past your carefully diced tubers, over James’ messy notes, it hit your arms and shattered. You flinched in pain, crying out as the glass shards embedded themselves in your arm and the congealing, repulsive liquid dripped down your hands and onto your thighs. James lunged towards you, but it was too late– the potion had already seeped into your skin, causing an awful sparking sensation. 

You gasped, grabbing onto the desk as the feeling bubbled upwards. “Jamie, I don’t– I don’t feel–” you stuttered, suddenly lightheaded, and you heard someone gasp as you began to taste something metallic. You absently touched your nose. Why was it so cold and wet? You had been so careful not to touch your face around those horrid tubers and oh, oh Merlin and Morgana what was that pain in your hands and legs, please no make it go away someone help me help me HELP

You vaguely registered someone whimpering in the background. It might have been you, but you weren’t entirely sure what was happening outside of the electric symphony of agony crescending in your nervous system. The pain built swirled flooded through until you weren’t sure where you ended and the potion began which was a funny thought because of course you were you, but you couldn’t remember who you were before this so you laughed but that really hurt, oh how that hurt no no no no no bad idea–  

“Fuck– no–” James? Was he here too?

You blinked– when did your eyes open?– and saw him reach for you, frantically pushing his dark curls off his forehead. Why would he do that? You loved his hair, even when you were feeling funny awful things from the potion. You felt his arms scoop under you, lifting you off your seat as he caught your head from falling back. You heard a door slam open, footsteps, darkness clouding your vision–

His voice. “Sweetheart, no– don’t do that, I need you to keep your eyes open.”

You blinked again, trying to focus on James’ face. He looked pale, jaw set and tensed like it was before his Quidditch games. Were you moving? You couldn’t tell whether James was walking or the hallways were walking around you. He glanced down again, exhaling with relief once he saw whatever he was looking for. “Yeah, just like that. Keep those pretty eyes focused on me, okay?” 

He thought your eyes were pretty? 

James gave a tight laugh. “Yeah, I think your eyes are pretty, dove. Hold on a bit longer, we’re almost there,” he choked out. 

Oh. Had you said that out loud?

But you thought– he had said something, before, you couldn’t remember now but it was important and it hurt–

Some part of you, deep where the potion hadn’t reached, had melted at his words. That part was tinged with pain, too, but in a different way, raw and honest and hopeful and all for him. Or maybe that was the potion, you were pretty sure witches weren’t supposed to melt unless they were green and lived somewhere much further west, but your thoughts on the whole process evaporated as you reached a white door and a woman and your words started to swirl until they melted too and everything went black.

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[deutsche-bahn]

I took some time and translated one of the anecdotes I'd written on here, since people keep putting my german posts through google translate in the notes and it makes my eyes bleed

It's a small story of a situation I got myself into while I was travelling through Prague. It was winter, I was 19, and completely disoriented on my way through eastern Europe. That day I'd made plans to meet some folks for breakfast at a café. But me being me I had somehow managed to type the wrong café into google maps, which sent me marching into the wrong part of town.

I burst into this unassuming little café somewhere in Prague like I was a Roman looking for the last unoccupied village in Galicia, walked through the rows of tables, couldn't find anybody. Opened google maps and promptly realized my mistake.

Unfortunately, by that point I'd caught the eye of the waiter. Some young, skinny guy with a pastel tshirt and a bow tie, looking vaguely like an overwhelmingly gay youtuber straight out of 2016. Good for him honestly.

He came flying in my direction, asking if there was anything he could help me with.

This is the point where I should briefly mention what I looked like at the time, since that somehow manages to make this story so much worse, yet so much better:

For starters I was dressed in a giant winter parka that I had quasi-borrowed from my ex. It was oversized to the point of making me look like the world's saddest emperor penguin. I'd spent the night on a flixbus (because what's new), was sleep deprived to the point of delyrium and wore giant hiking boots. The fact that I also suffer from a condition called "always looking like a 12yr old" certainly wasn't helping. In short, I looked like you could've cast me as Gavroche then and there.

The waiter proceeded, in czech, to ask me- well, something in czech. My czech skills are... lacking, and even that's a euphemism. I replied with all the wit I could muster: "What?? Sorry"

He repeated, now in english: "Hi, can I help you?"

I decided to opt for the one answer that could possibly make me look even more like a lost child.

"No, I'm just looking for my friends!"

Fantastic, stellar job, you babyfaced lunatic. Why not tell him that you'd now like to call your mum to come pick you up now? Jfc.

The waiter had already entered lost-child-emergency mode and actually offered to let me call someone if I needed to. Ah shit. "I can make you some tea!" he added. I got the vague feeling that he was five minutes and one more concerning remark on my part away from calling the authorities on me, so my reply of "ah, no no, I'm perfectly fine!" came out with a wee bit too much panic in my voice.

At that point he asked me what I was doing in Prague to begin with. In his eyes, there was a child standing in his cafe, unable to speak the local language and without his friends. Goddamn you, google maps.

I had travelled to the czech republic for a larp, and I'd rather have perished than explain the concept of larping to a random gay waiter. "Oh, it's very very complicated" I said instead. Holy shit, can you act less like a potential human trafficking victim, I fucking beg you?? Thanks in advance.

By this point the waiter was even more concerned, if possible. I thanked him several times (I must've seemed so composed and relaxed) and promptly booked it back out onto the street. Average Wednesday

[goofalicousgooberface]

Thinking about Farleigh and Oliver. About how Farleigh was the only one who could see through most of Oliver’s tricks because he’s the same kind of animal. They’re both the people pleasers of Saltburn. They’re the only ones who have to put on a show to be allowed to stay. But Oliver doesn’t confide in him for that. Because at his core I think he’s scared of genuine human connection. I think he’s afraid that if he acts like himself, people will leave. He’s always putting on an act, he’s been doing it for as long as he can remember. Because he never wants to disappoint. Maybe if Farleigh woke up while Oliver was making that text, they could’ve had a moment that was real. Farleigh waking to the blueish illumination of a phone screen, asking ‘what are you doing’. Oliver doesn’t have an answer. But Farleigh keeps pressing, until he gets one (or rather assumes one). It’s instant, his reaction. A barrage of ‘what the fuck is wrong with you’ and ‘why do they make Olivers so psychotic in that fucking factory’. But everyone is sleeping, and he has to keep his words hushed to keep it that way. Oliver’s only reply is ‘I don’t know’. It’s frustrating, but eventually Farleigh just turns over and tries to sleep with his phone clutched tightly. It’s too late for this bullshit. Oliver just stares with his eyes wide. Farleigh cracks one of his own open, asking (less angrily after he’s had a chance to cool down) ‘why’. And again, Oliver doesn’t have an answer to give. He’s just ‘I needed to’. And then something something Oliver tells Farleigh about his lack of identity in a moment of sleep deprived weakness and Farleigh sees himself in Oliver’s story yada yada and then they cuddle

A wee bit gay I believe (just one chance 4 either of them JUST ONE CHANCE PLEASE.)

[s-sugustar]

1-800-SUGAR!

synopsis : after an injury caused him to retire at an early age, aizawa has a lot of money in his bank account that was hardly ever used in his prime time; so why not splurge it on someone else?

pairings: yandere sugardaddy!aizawa x black!fem!reader

content warning : nothing yet.

word count : 2.2k

It has been a few months since Aizawa was no longer a hero. After the fight with Shigaraki, the sleep deprived man had no choice but to sever his leg from the rest of his body in order to stop the decay from spreading. Although immobilizing him to an extent, Aizawa still had the perks of being a UA teacher to his students.

Instead of fighting crime late at night into the wee hours of the morning, Aizawa finds himself catching on things he hadn't been able to do or complete for some time. This included reading literature, taking care of his plants and gaining much more rest than he had before.

It felt refreshing, he felt renewed but a small flicker of want called out to him. Of course, Aizawa had no idea what it could possibly be. Aizawa felt hopeless, like nothing could fill this growing void that garbled inside of him. It wasn't until one day that Hisashi, Aizawa's closest friend figured out what has made him so drained.

It was a night out for both Aizawa and Yamada; a bit unfortunate that Midnight wasn't able to attend due to a last-minute mission that required her assistance. Instead of crying over one less friend, they both decided to head out to a bar nearby. As the two settled down and ordered drinks, Hisashi started off the conversation. Gleefully updating Aizawa on the outer world things since Aizawa chose to move away from the world heroics and politics.

“So what have you been up to since you have all this time in the world now?” Haisahi questined, his drink in one hand and his chin laid flat on his open palm facing toward Aizawa. The man in question huffed, downing the cup of whiskey he had ordered earlier. “Not much. Other than school and reading a few literature books here and there.” Hisashi raised an eyebrow which caused the raven haired man to sigh in annoyance. “No Hisashi, there’s no ‘special person’ in my life.” Shouta commented, earning a dramatic groan from the blond next time.

After Aizawa left the heroic life, Hisashi pestered the man to find something that would take up most of his time, rather than sleep, working out and reading books. More so, Hisashi hinted at him getting into a relationship, but Aizawa quickly shot down the idea; claiming that him getting into a relationship of some sorts wouldn’t help him in any form or fashion so Hisashi pestered on. Aizawa never really had any love life as others would call it; in all honesty, he wasn;t interested in such trivial things.

A friendship seemed as pleasant as a relationship so what’s the big idea about a relationship? Was it the status, the wants and needs of being held? Aizawa never focused too long on such things, they were always on the back burner for him.

“I know you said you didn’t want a relationship of some sorts but have you tired being a sugar daddy?” Hisashi asked, a malicious smile on his face when he saw the way Aizawa’s eyes widen before coughing up the drink he had just downed. The poor man barely caught his breath before sneering at Hisashi, who seemed to have a blast at his misfortune. “Why is that even an idea for me? “ Aizawa asked, not bothering to stress of hte reason Hisashi thoughts this was a good idea in the first place.

“Oh come on, I mean, it isn’t a relationship as you said you had no interest in but you know, you have allllll that money sitting peacefully in your bank account and with me knowing the type of person you are, you won’t spend a red cent unless it is absolutely necessary for you to. So why not give the sugar daddy thing a try. Just for one week. If you don’t like it then we can totally stop whenever you are ready.” Hisashi voiced, giving Aizawa the option to opt out if he isn’t feeling it.”

With many thoughts running through his head , Aizawa stared at the empty glass in his hand before quietly answering, “I’ll think about it.” Hisashi squealed in delight, causing some of the others in the bar to look at him for a brief moment before turning back to whatever they were doing.

The alarm from your phone went off around 6:30 a.m. causing you to groan. The yawn that fell from your lips was a testament to how tired you were from your last shift. You stretched your limbs before moving from your position in your bed. After fixing your bed, you made your way over to your closet, pulling out your uniform from inside. The cold shower washed off any remaining tiredness that was in your body, soothing your skin and pushing your mind into a work state.

After locking your door, you made your way out of the apartment and onto the street, quickly checking your watch to see that you only had half an hour to get to work. ‘Shit.’ you thought, you ran over down to the metro station which was only a couple minutes away from your home. Hopping on, you placed your headphones into your ears, shuffling your playlist as you were on your way to work.

Upon entering, you quickly went over to your locker, the small tabby cat sticker that you had placed on it when you first came to work there. After pushing your bag into your locker, you quickly grabbed your apron before heading over to the cashier to start your day. You worked in a pastry shop as a source of retaining money. You first started it off as a way to pay off your student debt, but after a while and a bit of saving, you were able to move out and move into your own space.

Now it wasn’t massive or anything, but it was good enough for you to reside in. As you greeted customers with a smile and cashed in their orders. When it was close to your lunch hour, you exchanged with your other co-worker. After taking off your apron , you clocked out before grabbing your phone and heading down to a cafe nearby. As silly as it sounds, there was a small cafe nearby that you normally venture to during your lunch break. It was a small cute cat cafe that you heard about from some people back at where you worked.

You were cashing out an order when you heard Maxi, a chubby girl, who;s entire aesthetic was surrounded by barbie and white lace was gushing to her girlfriend Ana, who had been the complete opposite to Maxi; arm tattoos, piercings almost everywhere and bubble-pink hair. Without noticing, you tuned into their conversation. “Come on Ana, it’s super duper cute and they have cute cats there too. And I know how much you adore cats. It’s called Cat’s Haven you know, the people that own it, bring in rescued cats and give them a place to live.”

You zoned out after hearing about the cats, focusing on the customer that was in front of you. When it was time for your lunch hour, you handed over before going over to Maxi who was rolling the dough. “Hey Maxi, I uh, overheard you this morning talking about the new cat cafe that opened recently, I didn’t mean to listen in on your conversation I just -”, you were interrupted when Maxi shook her head at you before answering. “Oh, no worries. I kind of figured you would tune in since I do recall you telling me that you love cats.” She gushed, handing over the rolled dough to her girlfriend before facing you.

“You remember where the old flower shop that Ms.Hatti once had?”, you nodded your head in agreement, remembering the times when you would go over there after you finished work and bought daisies for your mother on your way to home. A bittersweet memory when you think about it; mainly because your mother hadn’t been interested in much of anything pertaining to you during that time, even up until now. Ridding yourself of those negative emotions, you zoned in on what Maxi was saying, pushing away those negative thoughts that tried to force themselves inside the centre of your present state. After you were given directions, you thanked Maxi before heading out to the cafe.

Outside was a bit warmer than you had expected, so you pulled off your cardigan and wrapped it aroumd your waist, tying the sleeves to the front so that it wouldn’t fall. Once you got closer to the cafe, you could hear the slight buzz and chatter from those who were nearby. The feeling surrounding the cafe was that of newness and solitude.

As you entered the cafe, the bell jingled once you opened the door, alerting customers as well as workers. A comfortable buzz fell through the air as you entered, small meows and soft purrs filled the air . You looked around at the variety of cats that were all over the cafe. Small and big, different types varying from american bobtail to balinese.

Your heart warmed at the sight before spotting a lone maine coon resting near on a table near the back of the cafe; an empty booth where the lone cat rested. You were close to approaching when one of the waitresses stopped you. “ I know where you are going and i would advise you not to, “ she paused before continuing, “ that particular cat isn’t one we let customers interact with because of previous incidents. She’s known to be aggressive towards customers. Unfortunately, we can’t giver her back to the shelter so we just advise customers to steer clear from her.” You nodded in agreement, taking in the lady’s words but still hell bent on going after her. You thanked the waitress before walking over to the same table that you were warned of.

You slowed your actions, making sure not to startle the cat. Once you sat down, it seems that the cat that laid before you noticed your presence; so in return, she sat up and hissed in your direction, probably hoping that you would leave her alone, but you stayed. With a bright smile on your face, you pulled out a few treats from the little cat bag you were given when you entered.

Placing a small treat on the table for the orange cat, not bothering to annoy her. You stayed silent as the cat whose name you learned was Cinnamon, stared you down for while before slowly moving to the treat you had placed on the table. “Atta girl.” you whispered, silently placing down another treat for her to pick up. Many customers watched in awe and adoration of how you handled the cat.

As she ate, you watched in silence, barely resisting the urge to pet her. In a calm and cool environment, both you and the cat sat in silence, not bothering to intrude on one another’s presence but merely enjoying the low noise with hardly any interaction; other than you slowly feeding her treats, time and time again.

It was couple minutes before your lunch time was up so you decided to finish your treat before giving Cinnamon the rest of her treats before getting up to leave. Once you stood, you gathered all that had been yours and started towards the door.

Before you could leave, you were stopped by the same waitress who had warned you earlier. In awe and amazement at how easily you handled the fiesty cat, she gave you a warm smile, almost begging you to come back more oftern and tame the said cat.

“You must be some sort of cat whisperer,” she started, “I’ve never seen someone tame that cat as how you did, even more so stand aroundher for so long.” she mentioned, looking back at the said cat who rested quietly on the table, looking through the window at the birds outside. You giggled at the compliment before shaking your head. “I’m no cat whisperer, I’ve just had experience with cats like her before.” you smiled before making your way theough the door back to your job.

Now weeks after, going to the cat cafe had been a routine for you, once your lunch started, you quickly took off your apron and made a bee line straight to the cafe, only sitting wherever Cinnamon had been. You weren’t the only one who the cat had tolerated. Apparently, there was some other person who was able to do just as you did with the cat. Were you jealous, somewhat; since you did want that particular cat all to yourself but you didn’t catch a hissy fit over such things.

As you sat quietly in the booth, patiently waiting on your order, you watched as Cinnamon pushed her head against the palm of your hand, you chuckled before combing your hands through her fur, sighing at the vibrations her fluffy body made.

You really weren’t paying attention to your surroundings when it came to other people; you were a bit too engrossed by the fluffball in front of you. “So you’re the other ‘cat whisperer’ I’ve heard others talking about.”

A/n: it’s been awhile. Not as good but i’m getting back there.

[pixeechix21]

Theo nott x reader

Academic rivals and you really need to de-stress good thing great minds think alike 😋✌️

Ps im a wee bit tipsy n idk how to think rn so let use our ✨imagination✨ I love yall xxox

You're in the Hogwarts library and you're super stressed. So stressed you can't focus and this isn't the moment for you to get side tracked especially when he's studying as hard as you if not harder than you. 

In a corner nearby you hear a frustrated shout and the thudding of books being thrown. Getting up I cautiously look around the corner. By a set of empty tables is a hunched over figure running his hands through his hair. “Hey everything okay?” You ask shyly to walk up to them. 

“No.” his voice is all too familiar. The voice that haunts my dreams and fuels my fantasies. I pick up the books, setting them on the table. “I keep on getting distracted,” he admits. I can see the bags under his eyes, probably reflecting those under my eyes. In the low light of the library and the dark outside he looks like a ghost from the ancient times we study about. His skin glows warmly and his eyes are shadowed. I find my breath hitching in my throat as he looks up at me with a certain look in his eyes. 

“If it helps I'm stressed I can't focus either,” you say helplessly. He pushes his chair back, his usually neat clothes are wrinkled, shirt pulled out and tie slightly undone. There's a sudden urge to fix it for him. Without a second thought my hand reaches out and pulls on his tie lightly loosening it. His deep eyes look at mine, surprised at me cold hands working his tie. Lowly I whisper to him, “I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours.” He chuckles lightly, amused his hand rests on my waist. His tie finally undone and I keep hold of him. His proximity is electrifying. In the quiet of the library I can't seem to keep my thoughts from him. 

As if he has read my mind he starts, “there's this. This. This thing, person, that I can't keep off my mind. Wherever I go, whenever I try to not to think about them they just Weaste their way into the very crevasse of my deepest-” his fingers dig in a little tighter, “-depraved parts of me.” I bite my bottom lip. “Your turn,” he says, eyes looking at my lips then back to my hooded eyes.

“Hmmm.” I hum, sleep deprived and drunk on the feeling of his possessive hold snaking its way under my shirt. His fingers holding on to my bare skin, burning that spot deliciously with his touch. “I feel, I don't know.. I feel tense and stressed. You see there's this guy,” his eyebrows prick up interested, “he consumes my thoughts to the point where I can't focus,” I aggressively plant my hand on his chest, smiling as I slip into his lap as he pulls me closer. 

“Tell me who this guy is?” It's barely audible with the pulsing of blood in my ears. 

“If I tell you you have to promise not to tell anyone, He's the only one that can help my dire situation,” I mockingly plead, a dark look comes over him. Underneath me he shifts himself holding me down to feel him securely.

“I can't promise anything,” his hot breath tickles my neck. Asmall kiss marks where his lips were. I try so hard not to moan in relife at the feeling of him. “But I can promise i can relive some of that… stress,” hes mi.iteres away from my lips. Our breaths are one and the same. I didn't have a single helpful thought before and I don't have one now. I kiss him. Our lips meet in a tangled mess of need and desperation. I needed this. His hands pushing me into him forcing all coherent thoughts of the test out of my kind for good.

[aethelwyneleigh27]

Fancy seeing you here😳 (in the COD simping club)

I was thinking(horrible desicion but hear me out)

(maskedFem!reader with Simon Ghost Riley, sort of a 'enemies to lovers' but not really cause they are platonics that love-hate each other and they do get along just with a larger vocabulary.

BUt Ghost is kind of swooning over her? a wee bit?(respectfully, in the corner of the room with his arms crossed,silently and lethally tho)

With cero awareness of his feelings, how he enjoys speaking with her and finds her precense borderline rehabilitating, perhaps he thinks his amazement is normal cause she's once in a lifetime of a unit and; she's also a woman and he almost forgets they exist sometimes so he's just a bit taken back, perhaps his brain rebooting the info. That makes sense.

But it's been almost a year so why is her voice such a melody still? Why does he seem to search for her eyes during sunny days the most searching for the color of them? He's too attentive with her, always getting sucked into the banter far easier than he should when she's involved in it. Can he even blame it on men's hormones when he barely feels anything, much less in that department? Do the rest of the 141 feel that too? Should he feel bothered or at ease?

Like some juicy slowburn 😈. During a mission they're bantering about Gaz being bitchless or her drinking coffee with enough sugar to send Price into cardiac arrest, and she's ambushed out of nowhere on her sniping point, taken for interrogation swiftly after being knocked out.

Angsty sht of her informing the ordeal before never responding to her callsign again, Soap mumbling a curse and Ghost entering autopilot to prioritize efficiency and the guys are a bit amazed by how swift he was wiping out everyone on sight.(Jhon Wick looking ass)

Finding her on a table with her hands and arms tightly bound and being held still by two men as another one had already used a scaple to cut through the middle of her torso almost like he intended to perform a surgery on her whilst she was conscious and aware. Simon shooting the two men right between the eyes but for some reason shooting the guy with the scaple on both of his legs and planting a knife on his eye whilst Soap cuts the rope, she barely gets a word out when Simon cradles her shoulders with one hand, his touch careful. And his voice a lot more soft than he anticipated it to be."Are you alright?"

Evac comes, she gets stitched back together at the hospital and needs to rest till it heals over, everyone cheers and hugs, and Ghost comes to acknowledge his feelings(as much as he can) when he closes the door of his bedroom and the emotions finally hit him, autopilot is turned off and he stares at a wall for almost an hour.

She becomes subject of his nightmares for a little while, he's outside clearing his head when she walks in with insomnia, he's troubled by the relief of the sight of her alive and his solitude being interrupted by the cause of his troubles, nevertheless she's still a welcomed sight, always a welcomed sight. "Oh, fancy seeing you here" "Shouldn't you be resting" "You need the beauty sleep more than me tho, Lt." "*Scoffs*" ..... "Wanna see it?(the scar)" "I knew you were a man(your dickl?)" "Is that why you've been up my ass all the time?" .... "Alright show me" she lifts her sweater up, a barely closed scar from bellow her ribs to bellow her belly button, he doesn't mean to but he flinches at the sight, tensed shoulders and furrowed brows the sleep deprivation has him in less control than usual and she notices. Still, he's fine cause he's Ghost and casually comments "It's healing rather quickly" he looks away unable to stand the memory of it just yet, she pulls it back down leaning her elbows over the window, just two feet away from each other. She takes the thin black mask off from around her ears letting the cold night hit her face properly, he looks away instantly. "It's fine, nothing you haven't seen" he very reluctantly glances back "So, they said y'all only found me in record time cause of you Lt." she glances at him and he glances out of the window, if he looks at her now he's afraid he won't be able to look away, "Just didn't want you spilling your guts to em" she snorts and her small laugh fills the silence of the night, perhaps the one in his heart aswell

"Your savior privileges have been revoked" "Too soon?" "....Just in time Ghost" she tilts her head to look at him, he makes the mistake of staring back out of reflex and thank fucking god for the balaclava he's wearing, he keeps his eyes from widening this time, but not from softening,cautiously mapping her face with her explicit permission trying so fucking hard to not make it obvious "Could convince me im the one with the skull balaclava with how avoidant you are" "Who knows maybe you scare more without the mask" she yawns and into her palm eyes getting heavier quickly, he's really fucking trying to unglue his eyes from her, a silence ensues, she looks at him again and "Thank you, Simon" she smiles gratefully, her gaze anchored on his and- isnt she a bit embarrassed to be this outright? He certainly is, his face burns, his heart skips a beat, seems getting flustered does the trick cause he finally rips his eyes from hers she chuckles at his expense and before he can reply she's standing up slipping her mask back on "Sweet dreams lieutenant"

Or

Enemies(frienemies) to lovers(but not really cause Ghost just realizes he's fucked up™) with maskedfem¡reader. Ghost begins to question the nature of his feelings towards her and realizing he's in fact a bit too fond of her. Im not quite good of height differences so if you'll be using height as a factor to describe, can she be atleast as tall as Soap? The whole 'petite' or 'chubby' Isn't my thing at all aswell, i need this woman to be a ball of muscle hitting her chest like a gorilla lmao. That weird drabble i put there is just to give kind of an idea but honestly do whatever you'd like, the way he realizes can be through some jealousy, some kidnapping, her getting drunk and soap putting her on his back or whatever i just wanna see him getting the hibbie jibbies, the toe curler hair twirling disease 💀

Feel free to ignore me i know it can be annoying to get a whole ass fanfic in your asks, have a wonderful day i love your writing💕

If anyone is looking for that whole ass fic this anon sent me then here it is, a fucking masterpiece I tell you <333

Like I can definitely see an enemies to friends to lovers situation with Ghost and of course there's gonna be jealousy because what better way than to push someone's buttons with tension??

[darkdemeter]

Pshhht dem, I drop this cute idea in your askbox⬇️

The horsemen (And maybe good ol' sammy) reacting to their university student! (Film major) partner inspiring their outfits on them for whenever they have to attend classes. When the horsemen (and sammy) ask why they do that they say that 1) it puts a nice challenge on their fashion skills 2)makes them feel closer to them and makes them feel less overwhelmed throughout the day.

(Inspired by: Ive been wearing horsemen inspired outfits to my uni classes, its super fun)

Have a good day and as always take your time!!!!

--Jer,a Very sleep deprived film major.

WARDROBE INSPIRATIONS

◤✘DARKSIDERS REQUESTS | CATALOGUE Horsemen + Samael x Uni student!GN Reader

NOTES ↳ That sounds like so much fun Jer I love that😭🖤 hope you enjoy my take on this and thank you for the idea submission! WARNINGS❕ ↳ just fluffy and a bit of hurt/comfort (reader gets a little anxious or low on self esteem) — certain someones get a bit thirsty, a wee little suggestive soft!18+ — I think that's it?

────────────────────────

University can be tough. It can get stressful and sometimes, you have to work around it to make it more enjoyable and fun. And hey, considering that the world is still working on rebuilding itself, it doesn't hurt to feel a little bit inspired by the ones acting as humanity's new sentinels. So...

DEATH

Of course you're going to wear skull adornments, whether that be a printed pattern on your clothes or the selected accessories. Yes, you try to keep it simple with a skull shaped necklace that you fiddle with all the time in class. Your professor tends to go into these passionate yet aggressive spews about filmography. To say that it can be overwhelming is putting it kindly, so you often find yourself playing with the little skull attached to its silver chain to keep your mind grounded.

As for the palette of your clothes, you have a very muted, darker shaded selection for your wardrobe. People might call you goth because of it, but hey, it suits the reaper. Maybe -- just maybe -- he slightly encouraged it beneath a dry chuckle and sarcastic drawl. Then you took it literally just to see his reaction... and there wasn't a single fucking thing! This Horseman was like a fucking brick wall. Not a damn bat of the eye, double take or even a half-assed compliment. Yes, it did put the tongue in your cheek and it did make your eyes squint in his direction whenever you stood purposefully in front of the mirror, humming loudly to yourself for an extra few minutes in hopes of gaining his impute. But he'd only say, "You're going to miss your classes." "Dust gives me more feedback and he's a bird! He doesn't even speak English!"

Death only glances up from the grooming process of Harvester, his eyes narrowed and face forever placid; unreadable. "Ugh, right... fine, classes, I'm going..." Death has admittedly played a major role in your life. Funny enough, you travelled the realms with him. A film student and a Horsemen... fun times. Until your sad ending where you lamented the fact that Death indeed played the role of a hero who sacrificed himself. The little skull necklace you wear actually holds a greater significance to you. Death of course noticed how you would caress it nervously, playing with it as you sat at your desk with your laptop screen lighting up your face in the dark. You... found it when Death disappeared into the well and you felt so lost. You had no sense of direction after that and for a while you felt stuck in a looping cycle of grief. Then you came across the unique charm and from them on, you always felt closer to Death, even when you knew he was gone. When you reunited with him, he noticed its presence immediately, huffing that the skull shared a likeness to his own mask. He doesn't at all much care with the way you dress in either casual attire or more flashy styles, merely rolling his eyes and sighing. He'll never fully understand the concept of humans being so focused on the way their clothing apparel looks. But of course, there is a weak point and the grim reaper himself isn't completely immune to this. You did wear that one outfit that had his amber eyes flickering like disturbed flames in the sunken bowels of his mask.

You'd appeared to be divine reincarnate, an intricate piece of artwork that he could fully appreciate. Yes, maybe he was a little prideful that day because what you were wearing was inspired by him. "I like that one. It suits you." Finally! That was the first, and only, compliment he voiced in regards to your actual fashioned outfit. He'd been thankful that his old, worn-down bone mask hid the flaunt of his dusted cheeks that day. Other than that, he relatively remained quiet, keeping his thoughts to himself. The only part he would always train his focus on and visibly show his interest in was that necklace. He understands that it means a lot to you and over time, it's also become tied to him. He's almost had a manic episode when you couldn't find it anywhere in your small room, almost tearing all four walls down with the aid of his siblings to find the necklace. "It's okay! I found it, it was just in the bathroom." But now in the tiring days of uni, hours dedicated more to your studies rather than sleep had you constantly reminded of the little charm around your neck and no matter how daunting the day felt, no matter how hopeless and wrecked you felt when assignments were due; you could always count on the little skull mask to keep you company in the meantime. All in all, Death is more of a sentimental type of reactor, instead focusing on the finer and more meaningful details rather than the materialistic regard. To him, the outfits don't compare to you. Not in a million years. But if you wear something black and form fitting, you're bound to catch those amber eyes on you with a prowess of hunger and admiration...

STRIFE

This gun-slinging Nephilim is just as into your wardrobe fashion as you, I swear. In the beginning, he's a tad or more confused, asking why you appear to be selecting familiar colours to his own armor and attire-- and oh shit, is that a matching scarf? Alright he's sold. Totally isn't also because he saw the few picked out undergarments you tried to sneak past him... You'll catch this witty Nephilim fawning over your matching scarf, it's just a fact. The colours of your recent wardrobe inspired by Strife, often replicate a palette of dark to almost black grays with a lot of lighter toned shades as well. You like to collect little gun and pistol charms that you either attach to your keychain or to your bag you take to class, finding them useful to play with absently while seated in class. However you dress he will find a way to support it because he wants to you feel good and secure in what you wear. "Hey, what's with the sad eyes, babe?" he asks, doing his best to cheer you up. His helm is off, showing off the handsome mug that is his rugged, defined features and that wolfish, fanged grin of his.

He stands behind you and those golden eyes of him stare at you with this fondness you find unworthy of being on you. "I don't think these pants match this shirt. I thought they did when I first bought them but now... I don't think it looks good. I think I'll just wear those sweatpants and hoodie again and get to class." You sound so defeated as you begin to search for the oversized articles of clothing you're opting to hide yourself beneath. Strife, with a sharpened tsk of his tongue and shake of his head, he snatches hold of your wrist and pulls you back to him with a reeling force. "C'mon, give me a twirl." Your brows furrow at this though your lips strain between a smile and grimace.

Was he really trying to compliment the horrible combination you picked out? His brows cock up, silently beckoning you to do so and you do, sighing quietly as you spin around slowly.

"Da-ham! You sure you gotta go to class today? I think missing one lesson for a date is worth it." Cheekily, he adds a wink and you feel your cheeks paint with a warmth an your features ease into a flustered smile. "Maybe after my class today." He grumbles with a pout but overall, he smile doesn't disappear for long. He's glad that he's managed to cheer you up. "I think I know what will put this together," he says and turns, rummaging around your closet like a feverish raccoon digging through trash. You're almost knocked in the head by several belts, an old duffel bag and a few sweaters. Finally, Strife returns and begins to wrap that scarf around your shoulders and neck, styling it much like his with the twin fabrics falling behind you.

"There you are," he grins with a deep chuckle, eyes shining brighter. "Now you've the inspired look of a horseman."

You choke on your words, eyes growing wide. "H-how did you know I—"

He leans down to brush the tip of his nose to yours, pulling you until your front is fully pressed to his own. "I put two and two together, babe. You look amazing in my colours."

As an add on because he knows you need the boost, you'll catch a shadow flittering past the window.

"What the fuck?!—" One of your classmates exclaim. Their reaction is followed by the several others who all rush off to the opposite corner of the classroom.

Only you remain seated, seemingly unaffected by their panic. You've dealt with way worse when you and Strife travelled the realms together, what could possibly be so bad outside—

Your once dullened eyes that were drowning in boredom brighten, lips freed from being nervously nibbled on. You grin widely with your teeth, abashed. Strife stands at the window with an old white poster board pressed flat on the window, scrawled in his handwriting, ' You're outfit rocks babe! ;D '

WAR

The classroom can get very cold in the winter months. And you couldn't subject War to sit beside you in class, providing you with both comfort and heat. So you go out on a mad spree to buy all the warm clothing that reminds you of him, consisting mostly of large, red sweaters and hoodies and scarves. To match the darker under suit of his armor, you pick out many pants and long sleeved tops in the same colour and to finally pull it all together... some stylish ugg boots! And you can't forget the fluffy fingerless gloves you got that match the silver adornments of his gauntlets.

Yes, Strife and Fury did catch you wearing this very replicated outfit the way to class and somehow they actually managed to mistake you for War, thinking that he shrunk. When War arrives at your dorm and enters, he can't find you at first. He only hears the muffled sound of your voice that beckoned him inside. "Y/N? Where are you?" he asks, head sloping sideways like a confused pup. You spring out from under the mountain of clothes piled on your bed. He'd thought he'd awoken an old demi-god from the way you rose up.

"Hi!" you greet happily, arms thrown out and you jump into his arms that catch you in a hug. "What is all of this?" he asks after he sets you back down on your feet and with a giggle, you pull him a little closer. "Okay, okay, so you know how I attend my university classes still?"

"I thought the building was destroyed..."

Your lips purse together in thought. Yes, the building was in a sorry state, so much so that it was why the classroom suffered poorly in winter. "Yes," you squeak out, "and winter is approaching and the room gets really cold. So! to counteract this, and the fact that I miss you. A lot. Everyday. I bought an abundance of clothes that were inspired by you!"

You can see the cogs in his head turning and the way his eyes narrow into a thoughtful glare. To further get across what it was that you meant, you began to piece together your outfit that would funnily enough be your damn near replica to his outfit in a more human, casual sense. "I see," he drawls lowly. He watches as you collect the articles off the bed and rush off to the bathroom. "Wait until you see it, it's going to blow your mind."

Some minutes pass by and War slowly paces back and forth across the flat of your dorm, waiting. The click of the door alerts him and he spins on his heel, his blue eyes beaming down the short hall at you. You step out, adjusting the red cowl of your hood and walk towards him, almost with a cocky saunter in your step. "What do you think?" He takes a moment before his scarred lip forms into a smile a the sight of it makes your heart melt. "I like it. You were inspired by me?" "Mhmm!"

You begin to do a little dance, showing off your outfit in a more silly fashion, laughing to yourself with the way War's eyes peel wider open, staring at you with this striking awe, unblinking. "Think I pulled off your look?"

"Without a doubt, my little human." He pulls you into his chest, his lips brushing over the crown of your head as he smothers you with his warmth, erasing the profound chill in your room and you sigh in contentment.

FURY

Fury just about walked right out of the shopping mall the instant you crossed the threshold. But with some words of encouragement and maybe a promise that you'd spoil her with some of that famous Gelato joint, she crossed the most dangerous battlefield she ever could in this lifetime. She notices how you keep looking at her every few seconds as you browse the clothing section, eyes squinted in your study. There were a few times she snarled, "What?"

"Nothing," you reply with a dismissive shrug. Oh, you could not handle the way she was judging you throughout the checkout process, almost scrutinising every piece you ran through. But thankfully, she seemed distracted with the gelato to forget about the shattering of your piggy bank.

She is astute and observant but it appears she missed the pattern of your choice of wardrobe until after you got back to the dorm and began to style and try on a few different combinations to find the most suitable ones. Like a switch turning on, she bluntly asks, "Did you pick out clothing that resembles me?" Sheepishly, you nod. But then Fury's lips quirk into a smugly laced smirk, eyes thinning in that prideful boast. You couldn't help but smile back. You're friends in class were going to be so jealous... and Fury was on board with that notion.

In fact, she is quite the fashion guru. A hidden talent of hers and one so deeply suppressed that even she was in awe herself with the outfits you both were putting together. She did swear you to secrecy that this side of her remain between the two of you, willing to load the credit onto you instead if only to save face from her brothers.

A strange mix of autumn and spring wear, a rainbow of aesthetically aligning colours from maroon, white and paler tones of purple. Silver jewelry is much suited to Fury, but if you do wear gold, it has to be simple. Maybe some golden, small hooped earrings, a golden ring or two and a thin gold chain necklace. You stand before Fury, two sleeved tops hovering back and forth on their hangers as you try to decide which one. "What do you think, Fury?"

"That one," she points at the dark maroon short, not even giving the other one a spare glance. Before you can even ask if she wants to see the other one, she interjects haughtily. "It matches your eyes better, I find." Her lips suddenly clap shut, slimming. She's never been that forward with her compliments before.

Warmth covers your cheek and neck. Was that her way of complimenting you? With a nod, you then toss aside the other shirt in favour of the one she chose. Pulling it over your head, you indeed agree that it looks much better, matching your eyes in a way that draws attention to them.

"You're really good at this, Fury," you giggle and you watch her shake her head, looking away. She only hums in agreement and you turn to her with a frown. Was something wrong? Cautious and aware that her temper did always get the best of her at times, you approach her and sit beside her on the bed. Your hand finds hers, squeezing it tenderly. "You okay?" "Yes, yes I am... I just..." Every time you almost catch her white, glowing eyes, she's quick to turn away.

"Fury, talk to me."

"It's just— you look so beautiful and I... I don't understand."

Your eyes lower to look down at your feet, pondering for a moment. Swallowing and calming the rapid pace of your heartbeat, time announcing the nearing hour of your class long since forgotten. "You know... it can get tedious in class sometimes. Boring and cold too. Even when my friends are there, I get this weird sense that I'm alone and I never feel that way when you're around."

Fury's head finally lifts up and she meets your gaze. "Then why don't just stop attending?" Her question is abrupt. Yes, it could be read as selfish but also, from her view, why waste your time with something you don't see worthwhile. You sigh with a shrug.

"I enjoy what I'm studying. But what I'm trying to say is that I had this thought that if I inspire my clothing after you, then maybe I won't get that strange and awful feeling when I'm in class. I hope that it lets me feel closer to you when you're not there with me."

Your fingers twine and wrangle together, taunting the bones and knuckles to ache under your grip and your knee bounces, uneasy. You wait for her to say something -- anything. She turns to you and loops an arm around you, pulling you close to her.

"Oh human, you're a silly little creature. But I love that about you and know that I'm never far."

(+ Bonus) SAMAEL

Samael adores you and your fashion statement in a way that only a demon lord can, going as far to even have intricate and unique accessories made to fit the style you're going for. He has a dark love for the many shaded pigments of red you chose in your recent shopping haul. He may be a dweller of the hellish pits but he is the Lord of Blackstone Keep. Give him credit, he has taste.

He watches you with a keen amount of interest, either silently smirking as he rolls his hand down the pronounced horn of his chin and his ember eyes flaring with that of a breathing hearth. Showers you with compliments that are undoubtedly laced with a sensual undertone -- Samael savours you and lusts for you in a way no mortal is capable of.

Samael is especially interested in the outfits you pick out that appear more flashy or risqué. He wonders if you're trying to purposefully flaunt yourself like a majestic peacock at this point but you are his dear one, he expects no less. He has a major complex that all the eyes of your peers should be upon you.

But there are times that you don't have confidence that day in what you're wearing... "I don't know, Sammy..." you sigh, shoulders deflating with what little remained of your self esteem. His hands cover you entirely, over your shoulders and down to your waist and thighs. "Shall I have the blacksmiths forge something to add to it?"

You shake your head, humming in thought as you gaze at your reflection. It's not that you think something is missing, in fact you think you may be overdoing it.

"Should I go with something more simple this week? I don't really have the energy, not with all these assignments due."

Samael huffs to himself. Not to belittle you, he just deems that any human who isn't you is beneath you, that you shouldn't have need to resign yourself to such lower thoughts and worry. No, he says again what he always says. "My dearest one, you are the grandiose of your kind. You are far more intelligent and stunning than those other mongrels who scrape at your feet an your so-called professor... hmph, he sounds more of a court jester than an actual expert in his study."

He tilts your chin up higher, raising both your gaze and your spirits and his lips twist into that crooked smirk you have come to love. Shyly, your lashes flutter as you blink and try to let your eyes fall away, but Samael doesn't relent. "Anything you wear, I believe looks perfect on you." "Aw, thanks, Sammy." You giggle, feeling an improvement in your mood and after another once over and turn here and there, you can't remember what it was you were so worried about. It's a fucking gorgeous outfit and most of all, it was inspired by Samael. You know he devours the thought that he is the muse of your inspiration. Humans often inspired by a great source that fuels their creation, of course he is greatly prideful in that. "But I am not opposed to seeing it all on the floor," he teases with a low purr and you physically have to bat away his creeping hands with a yelp, shielding your hotly reaction from him as he chuckles darkly.

"Samael!"

[serendertothesquad]

"Wordsville" and the Problem with Cash-Cow Copies

[note original day of creation was February 15, 2024. just...just for reference. trust me bro.]

Hello.

Tonight I am in a silly mood fueled by sleep deprivation.

That means you all get an introspective blog that I will complete within a week and then ask "why'd I write that?"

So here's what's on Seren's lovely table of discussion tonight...

Put...put away the glasses. You don't need your glasses. This is the highest-quality thing I can get.

But et voila. A little project in the works called Wordsville.

Now, at this point you might be asking why I'm referencing "cash-cow copies" in the title. And whoo-hoo...oooooh...well, I don't want to make this some kind of clickbait blog, so I might as well perfect the atomic bomb in five minutes and land it on you folks.

What if I were to tell you that this is a blatant, shameless, slap-a-digital-coat-on-it-and-call-it-a-day copy of Odd Squad?

Ahhh, see, now I have you intrigued. Hopefully. If you are, then peep down below and let me discuss things a little more in-depth for you non-believing hacks asking me if I'm borderline insane.

So to put things in perspective, allow me to explain what Wordsville is, starting with my own personal summary.

Wordsville is an up-and-coming episodic (not to be confused with serialized, that's a whole 'nother ballgame) TV series that is produced (and will later be distributed) by Sinking Ship Entertainment and is made with assistance from WNET, a PBS station located in New Jersey, and TVO Kids, PBS Kids's girlfriend from Canada that's definitely real.

It was announced back in October of last year with a press release from Kidscreen, which didn't give much info aside from the following blurb:

Wordsville stars two child detectives on the hunt for missing words that are causing chaos in their town.

Sounds a little familiar, don'tcha think? Two kid detectives, finding something missing...and that "something missing" is causing chaos where they live?

Oh, but if you think the similarities end there, then no. No the absolute fuck they do not. I've got my bathing suit on and God damn it if I'm not gonna jump all the way in the pool instead of dippin' my little toes in there.

Doing a little bit of digging reveals more tidbits from a casting call for the series. It's rather wordy (ayyyyyy I did a funy), so let's take it piece by piece and discuss accordingly.

Wordsville is a town populated entirely by kids

A town that is populated entirely by children? Now c'mon, surely that doesn't ring a be-

...Ah. Whaddya know. Yes it does.

And with the adults as useless and idiotic as they are, it might as well be a town full of solely children. Next question.

and it’s a place where words matter. A lot. Every kid citizen has a special connection to words. And that means that if something happens to a word, there are far-reaching consequences.

A special connection to words? Like how there are children who have a special connection to normalcy? Stopping, oh, I dunno, hypothetically speaking...

...oddness?

Okay okay, I'm reaching just a wee bit here, but you can't read this and not tell me it echoes the funny kids math show to some degree or another. If an odd thing happens to a person, the whole town suffers. You've seen it. I've seen it. It's been the basis for many an A and B-plot. Must I elaborate? Good, because I don't plan on it. Continuing.

If the Main Street Baker bakes delicious donuts and they all mysteriously disappear, nothing else in Wordsville can taste good until they are returned.

Town Baker walked so Main Street Baker can sprint while blowing their lungs out.

If the Town Doctor’s soothing medication gets swiped, the whole town gets uncontrollably itchy until the medicine-napper is uncovered.

Ignoring the incredibly dark implications of this as well as the implications of this shoddy knockoff town having only one single doctor...

Dr. O walked so the Town Doctor can sprint while blowing their lungs out...over their massive paycheck.

(I technically could have also put New Dr. O too, but I'd like to spring for iconic OG's here. New Dr. O is neither iconic nor an OG.)

And let me remind you that "Torontonians get uncontrollably itchy due to something odd" would, by technicality, classify as an odd problem. Because...I mean, y'know...the cause is something odd happening. Doing shit with words is odd. This needs absolutely no explaining.

If the Local Scientist does an experiment with electricity and all the lights in town go out, they won’t come back on until the experiment wrecker is revealed.

Yep, I've taken shots of every IPA I can. We nearly hit the main character quadfecta, if you discount Dr. "bro thinks she's part of the team" O. All they needed was a bit about a high governing body and we'd round out the quad squad in proper with Oprah!

There's also a sneaky lil' crumb in the form of that blurb relating to Oona, who did, indeed, experiment with electricity in one episode and wound up proving why she can never take up Crossfit.

Hmmmnnnnext!

In each crime, the episodic word disappears and can’t return until the mystery is solved. The impact of the missing word is felt all over town.

This is another one of those things that I gotta wrench a hammy for in terms of comparisons, because about the only thing I can reasonably compare Odd Squad to is the second sentence.

See, here's the thing. You get oddness that happens to a person. Oftentimes, that oddness spreads to other people, whether directly (in the form of diseases and disorders) or indirectly (like the Town Baker's cakes being split in half, which wouldn't please Torontonians poppin' in for a whole cake and eyeing the display to get a feel for one). In a sense, normalcy disappears and, well, it can't return until [insert partner pair here] solve the case. It's kinda the entire schtick of Odd Squad as a franchise. It's formulaic, just like how Wordsville's "words disappear and nothing can be normal until the word returns" schtick is formulaic.

Is it a stretch? Perhaps. Mileage may vary. I think it's a bit of a stretch, personally. But hey, I'm a grown adult critiquing a ripoff of a kids STEM show. I shouldn't be talking. But I didn't start this fandom nearly 10 years ago just to let Sinking Ship's piss-poor attempt at really capitalizing on one of their biggest franchises sliiiiiide right by me on a floor smooth enough where I'm falling on my ass every 10 seconds.

Luckily, best friends and partners Sage and Chase are on the case and run the only detective agency in town. These tech-savvy sleuths solve mysteries entirely virtually because their reading, listening and digital literacy skills are their greatest strengths. Sage and Chase always catch their culprit and make sure everything is right with the word.

Now where in the McFuck do I start with this one? The PAW Patrol catchphrase thrown in complete with shared name? The fact that there is only one detective agency in the entire town? The fact that Sage and Chase are best friends as well as work partners? Or the pun that made me actively cringe in a way I haven't felt since Whitney told James she wanted to go on the lake?

I mean...this is about Odd Squad, so...I guess the second one sounds most plausible.

But that doesn't need explaining either. There is only one detective agency in town. There is one Odd Squad precinct per city or per state.

No, neither does the third bit. I already referenced Olive and Otto above. You should know what's up.

(I've also read that blurb five times now and...well...we'll get to the digital stuff in a bit. That just needs a whole side-set of word vomit.)

-------------------------------

In my digging of this series -- which, well, wasn't all that much -- I managed to find a few blurbs on our two main characters. The casting call for them, funny enough, called for, and I will quote this exactly, "talent to look 9."

As in, they want the actors to physically look 9 years old.

Which puts that qualifier in the same ballpark as Odd Squad UK's "talent must be Canadian but live in the UK". But at least that prerequisite actually had a legitimate earnest reason behind it, which is that the production needed to be Canadian in a lot more than just the "Canadian prodco works on a British series" sense. Hiring kids who have to physically look 9 years old and will probably be yoted onto the street the second puberty hits them like a truck is a practice not even the most egregious bosses of family-owned-and-operated businesses could pull off.

But enough about the qualifiers. Let's get started on our character comparisons and civil cidiscussion! (Oh the irony...)

And remember this: the casting call was handled by Larissa Mair Casting, who previously did casting for Odd Squad. So that means there will be tinny lil' crumbs of bonus material for me to dissect and discuss! Huzzah! Aw God why can't this happen for Odd Squad UK...man, I'm gonna have to go into my sobbing corner...

First up, we have Sly Sleuth, originally referred to as "Sage" here. I'll also be referring to him as "Sage" in this blog.

Sage is a great detective; thoughtful, extremely logical, and talented at getting information out of people.

Thoughtful of others. Logical. And can wrench information out of suspects like a badass.

Yep, we got an Olive that got hit with an Olando-fied beam. (And because half of you don't know who Olando is: Sage is meant to be a male Olive. I hope that clears things up for you.)

What else?

Nothing related to vocabulary or literacy gets by this investigator. Suspects can underestimate Sage but that is always a mistake. Sage doesn’t scare easily and won’t take no for an answer, traits that make an excellent detective.

You could tell me this was how Olive was meant to be written in "My Better Half", word for word, and I would honestly believe you. Right down to asking, "Her name was Sage in pre-production?"

About the only place I can draw the line here is at Olive not scaring easily. We don't know Sage's backstory -- and once again, this is an episodic series, so don't expect much in the way of plot, backstory included -- but Olive, at least, has a legitimate reason for all the times she covers her ears at loud noises or sharply reacts to something startling.

The former is because of The Censor-Friendly Bullet Massacre of '15.

The latter is because Dalila Bela marched straight out of a viewing of Who Framed Roger Rabbit and never looked back.

I...can't really say either applies to Sage. At least not yet. We'll have to see if Sinking Ship decides to bring Wordsville into its lil' multiverse that Odd Squad and Dino Dana and Endlings and Playdate already share.

Sage is also wise, which is why the name “Sage” is completely appropriate.

Sooooo does that mean his name is Sly because he's cunning like a fox?

Well then in other news, Olive is named such because she was inspired by the famous Law and Order character Olivia Benson. I have fifteen folders that back me right the hell up. Also I contacted Sinking Ship the other day, they explicitly told me.

No, no, but in all seriousness. Olive, too, is very wise. Historian buff, knows her shit about Odd Squad, doo-dah, doo-dah.

Anyway, next up we have Chase, who was renamed to "Gabby Gumshoe". (I'll be referring to her as Chase in this blog, as well.) Let's see what's on the chopping block for her in terms of our favorite food-loving, hella tall, crazy silly blorbo.

Chase is a fantastic detective, but is also goofy[,] funny, visually oriented, and, like the name suggests, loves the “chase”.

Now there's a man who got hit with a yassified beam, right there.

I'll leave it up to you folks whether you consider Otto to be "visually oriented". But in terms of "loving the chase"...yeah, I'd say that fits.

To lay it down: Otto is a rookie agent. Common sense would lead anyone to assume that he has an absolute blast solving odd cases and absorbing every bit of knowledge about Odd Squad that he possibly can. He finds out a villain's on the loose? He's right there, by Olive's side, workin' to catch 'em. He finds out oddness has run rampant throughout the town? He's right on that shit.

Chase, on the other hand, is someone I wouldn't call a rookie. It's made quite evident that she is, for all intents and purposes, seasoned. Seasoned enough that she manages to keep the detective agency she works for afloat and get approval from the others in Wordsville, Sage included. This, perhaps, is because she's not really meant to be an audience surrogate in the same way Otto is. Otto, at least for the first few episodes, serves as a way to ease the audience into Odd Squad and show them what the organization is and what they do without yoting them into it and leaving them asking "Where am I?" more times than a drunkard. Chase doesn't fill that role, because it could be argued that such a show like Wordsville doesn't really need an audience surrogate. Whether that's true, though, remains to be seen.

People tend to underestimate this investigator, but Chase often notices things like a chocolate stain when someone said they didn’t like chocolate or a squiggle of icing that turns out to be the antonym of the word they’re tracking.

Y' take Otto's...Otto's love of food...and y' put it in a gorl...and BAM you got a character.

...

That isn't a joke. It's dead-on serious. Even the casting call script pins Chase as a kid with a sweet tooth! It's just Otto but with a less diverse palate! Otto eats everything! This kid eats sweets! God sakes, give her some juice, make her Oprah, I don't give a shit, fucking hell I'm driving 50 minutes to Burger Ki-

Chase is also great with computers and incredibly artistic. A graphic note taker[,] Chase loves to draw, has a great eye for details, is a big fan of the “zoom in” function, and really enjoys creating animated re-enactments of Word Mysteries.

All right, we finally have somewhere we can draw the line.

No, not at being tech-literate. With being artistic.

Otto's artistic talent kind of varies throughout the franchise. In drawing on paper, he's pretty solid for an I-just-recently-turned-10-please-praise-me-year-old. In making paper airplanes, he's solid enough to take down a grown-ass man and rock his sunglasses when he's done for.

In computer drawing...well...if you can believe it, concepts like Ibispaint and Photoshop don't exist in the world of Odd Squad. (Okay, maaaaybe Photoshop does. I don't think it does. But it could be a good in-universe justification for it.)

We don't know Otto's digital artist merit because we never see him make any digital art. All of his art is solely non-digital. On Chase's side of things, she lives in an era where digital drawing is, like in real life, the norm. It's a contrast that might be one of the more glaring ones when it comes to comparing these two shows.

Now, as for the "creating animated re-enactments" schtick...if that isn't an excuse for Sinking Ship to work their animation magic after the Sandy Cheeks movie, then I honestly don't know what is. If you wanted to make the show animated, you could have made it animated. Would've been cheaper, too!

(And "Word Mysteries"...it's not as grating as Wild Kratts's "Wow Fact", but it's edging pretty close. I blame WNET. That's solely a PBS thing right there. TVO Kids would never.)

----------------

So we've gotten the discussion about the two main characters out of the way. Now we can dive into the heartier meat. The kind where's it's purple on the inside but you still digest it anyway.

I'm talking, of course, about the sample scripts- script. Singular. There is one script. Uno.

Now, lemme give you a bit of a rundown: casting calls for Odd Squad -- really, most shows, but this is a blog about Odd Squad -- often come with sample scripts. This is so talents can read their parts aloud for the camera and have the tape submitted to the casting agency for consideration. Odd Squad in particular has had quite an interesting ride with sample scripts, from entire episode plots being adapted into final products (with a bit of tweaking) to characters having names different than what they're named in the final product (which is the case with both Sly and Gabby). They're nothing on the scale of ABC Me dropping episodes earlier than PBS or shorts getting dropped as an alleged April Fools prank, but they're pretty damn good crumbs to chew on.

The sample script starts out with Sage and Chase on, of course, a video call. (Sinking Ship made a Zoom reference once. Pray they do not make another by the name of a friendly drug called "Speed" or that term for peeing known as a "Whiz".) Chase explains that she just gave her office chair's wheels a tune-up, which, of course, makes her hungry. Hungry enough that she declares a "cookie break" and immediately takes out a ginormous cookie from hammerspace that just made the European bakery down the street from me start sobbing. (Look, they make good cookies. Giant cookies. Cookies I need two hands just to hold properly. Trust me, it's- it's massive.)

However, when she bites into the cookie, she finds that it tastes absolutely gross -- "not sweet, not even sour". While she ponders if her body has forcefully rejected one of the best sweet treats known to humankind, Sage begins to grow suspicious and asks if it's a Word Mystery they need to solve.

Which is, coincidentally enough, when the Main Street Baker calls in a fit of hysteria, explaining that their "delicious donuts" are gone. And because we can't take enough from Odd Squad, we get a bit of "literal humor" in the form of the donuts both being delicious (probably) and them spelling the word "delicious" prior to their disappearance. After Sage explains what "delicious" means as well as what synonyms are, it's shown that the culprit also struck other pastries, up to and including gingerbread people, which Sage absolutely takes personally because he's a kid of pure culture who gives a big "fuck you" to holiday-specific treats being enjoyed only during said holidays.

Chase, in true Otto fashion, decides to take more bites of her cookie and instantly regrets it. Sage, in true...well...Clint Eastwood fashion (I shit you not, that's literally what it says in the script), declares that they need to find the word "delicious" and fix the pastries.

And...yeah, that's about it. Like I said, there's really not much to go on with casting call sample scripts. Especially not ones from Larissa Mair.

My conclusive thoughts on it, you ask? Well...they can try to hide it, but all it's doing is enforcing my point. From the Main Street Baker having donuts missing similar to how the Town Baker had bagels missing in "Soundcheck", to Chase being an idiot who is obsessed with food the same way Otto is (right down to his willingness to drink Odd Todd's pickle juice when it tasted gross in "Bad Lemonade"!), even down to the "literal metaphor" kind of humor as it applies to singular words. Am I stretching? Perhaps. But these supposedly insignificant pieces are just part of the bigger picture, the larger issue at hand in this long-winded piece.

------------------

The digital aspect of Wordsville is one of the ways they decided to put a twist on the precedent that Odd Squad set. And it's so blatant and in-your-face that it's on par with shoving a red flag in someone's eyes to blind them.

But here's the thing. The digital aspect been done. Amusingly enough, by the same company.

Lockdown is a show that fits right in with the others at the Shows-Made-During-the-COVID-Pandemic-About-the-COVID-Pandemic club. It was a way to capitalize on something in society that probably will never be relevant again until around 2050. Maybe even earlier than that, at the rate we're going.

I haven't seen it, so I can't speak much about it, but from my side of things it looks a lot like Unfriended if it took place during the pandemic and wasn't a horror movie and involved teens and not young adults/adults/I haven't seen the movie in many years bite me.

But the main difference between Lockdown and Wordsville, relevant to this editorial, is that Lockdown has a legitimate reason to be shot entirely on electronic devices. It's part of the plot. It works, I'm sure. For Wordsville, it makes no sense for the outline and isn't just limiting, but is downright insulting for something "rooted in the 21st century". It's good to be unique when making a show, but there's such a thing as trying too hard to be unique to the point where it's detrimental to your show's quality. Making the show be a digital-only angle isn't a smart move, especially for a detective procedural.

And if it's trying to differentiate itself from Odd Squad...well, do I got some bad news for you.

The show already did an entire Zoom parody in the span of an 11-minute episode.

And I still hate it with all the vitriol of an old woman who hates kids playing with beach balls in the yard pool. It sucks ass. It's entirely unneeded when you have three children sitting around the same table. I could vomit on you all day about it. But at least it's far more justified than Wordsville having its entire formula based on it. You can rip off a show without being limiting.

(don't. seriously. don't.)

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Before we get to the conclusion, I need to dive deep into Odd Squad's own popularity and explain it a little more beyond just little "trust me bro" tidbits.

If you've been following it for as long as I have, then it's no secret that Odd Squad is one of Sinking Ship's cash-cow franchises. You've got the main series, six different spinoffs, a live show, a book...and I didn't even provide a whole damn list! Point being, it's huge. It doesn't have many roots in pop culture, but from a certain angle, it is an absolutely massive franchise that continues to grow, even in spite of its controversies.

Unlike works such as SpongeBob or Bluey, Odd Squad isn't popular enough to get bonafide ripoffs. The formula is relatively easy to copy, and if anything there are shows that have a similar premise but aren't even close to ripoff territory (K.C. Undercover, for example). It's just that, for all the ripoffs people have done of shows and movies over the years, the motivation for industry bigwigs in taking Odd Squad and running with it just...isn't there. I can connect it to Disney or Dreamworks or Viacom all I want, but at best they have a vague awareness of it that only goes as far as "oh, that's a thing, I guess". At worst, they see it as a pile of shit that would never turn a decent profit.

It could be argued that Sinking Ship wasn't all too well-known in the entertainment sphere up until Odd Squad came around. Looking at their resume doesn't show all too much in the way of what's popular. This is Daniel Cook, Roll Play, Playdate...they don't stick in your head, right? Yeah, none of them stick in my head either. Odd Squad was their first big hit for them, something that really helped them gain ground as a company. It's the one that's pretty much linked with Sinking Ship in news articles. Like husband and wife, but for the TV industry.

But to Hollywood bigwigs, that means about as much as finding a stick on the ground. I guaran-goddamn-tee Bob Iger is not going to put his grubby little hands on the funny kids math franchise and twist the hell out of it. The only way that's happening is if you run "Odd Squad, but make it Disney" through an AI generator. (Which, for the record, I have not done. You can't really replicate Odd Squad characters in animation without making them look like they walked out of yet another Law and Order spinoff that's far more kid-friendly.)

However, even with Odd Squad's varying popularity, there are shows that go just a little beyond having a similar premise to it but don't dive into ripoff territory. Sort of like a next step up.

A long time ago, a few friends and I in an Odd Squad Discord server were discussing the show Numberjacks. You know, that show that Jacknjellify may or may not have used as inspiration for Four's design? Yeah, that's the bitch.

The show has a few similarities to Odd Squad. You've got the focus on math, a system for exiting the couch headquarters that's similar to the tube system, and even the existence of kid agents and incredibly odd villains, one of which, need I remind you, Twitter tried to make into a sexyman for all of two days to varying degrees of success.

I will admit, I haven't seen Numberjacks in several years. In fact, the last time I saw it was when it was brought up as an Odd Squad ripoff. If I recall correctly, the episode that I picked to watch on a whim was "Seaside Adventure", wherein a few numbers take a vacation and trouble occurs. Or something like that. I really can't remember many details.

One thing I do remember, though, is distinctly thinking that I could see the Odd Squad similarities, but...it's not a ripoff. The series premiered in 2006. By that point, Tim McKeon and Adam Peltzman were off on their own ventures as they wrote for cartoons and other things. Thus, Odd Squad hadn't been birthed yet. If anything, Odd Squad took cues from Numberjacks, not the other way around -- but even with the existence of Odd Squad UK, we don't know that for sure. I don't even know how popular Numberjacks was in the UK. I'm a dumb lil' American, not a Daphne-Moon-esque English woman.

Since then, I haven't found anything that has come close to what Wordsville aims to accomplish. Granted, though, I have not looked very hard. I'm moreso keeping an eye on PBS to see if they're going to try and rip off Odd Squad rather than keeping an eye on any random B-lister studio. (And no, I'm not talking about WNET. They are a PBS station, but I'm referring to PBS as a whole entire network, not a sole affiliate.)

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So the question remains: is Wordsville an Odd Squad ripoff?

Yes. On multiple counts. Right down to the name inspo. Guilty as charged. Right to jail.

From it being for the 4-7 demo not unlike Odd Squad's own 4-8 demo, to Sage and Chase being referred to as "Word Detectives" in lieu of "agents", to it being a detective procedural not unlike Odd Squad and its spinoffs, to the synopsis of the show being described as having "a case rooted in a vocabulary lesson" similar to Odd Squad having episodes rooted in STEM lessons, to it actively encouraging the audience to solve mysteries along with Sage and Chase...to Sage and Chase having alliterative theme naming...

Yeah, safe to say, we've got ourselves a ripoff.

There's no denying that Odd Squad is a fantastic franchise. Even through all of its issues, including financial controversies, heavy criticism, and mistreatment from PBS, it has remained strong for nearly 10 years, and will stay strong for many more. Maybe one of these days, it will plant roots deeper into pop culture and become one hell of a phenomenon. We'll have to see.

But the fact that Sinking Ship Entertainment has to resort to borrowing a concept that is unique in its nature, a concept that has already been done, a concept that has been given life and creativity by the people who birthed it, and then try to pass it off as its own original IP is not a good look on them. It's been done similarly before with their other big franchise, Dino Dan -- key word being "similarly" because it's one show and three spinoffs focusing on different characters. That isn't the case with Wordsville, though.

Put it this way: it's a company ripping off not someone else's IP, like many other companies have done and continue to do. It's a company ripping off their own IP.

And really, it doesn't matter how it's done. Stealing is stealing. At the end of the day, all it shows is a complete lack of creativity and a complete craving for the almighty dollar. More so if it's a company stealing from themselves and passing it along as okay.

In spite of this, however, I am perfectly willing to give Wordsville a shot when it comes out. Not so much to see if it's good (though my curiosity is piqued), and definitely not to hate-watch (which has the opposite intended effect on a show or movie), but to see just how far Sinking Ship is willing to push the envelope in affirming viewers and industry buddies alike that this is not, by any and all accounts, a copy of Odd Squad. I want to spot similarities. I want to take whiskey shots until I can do a zoom-zoom to a hospital and then ask if they've got a bottle on board the rig. I want to give a full, I-watched-this-show-now-here-are-my-overall-final-thoughts addendum on the entire issue.

As of now, Wordsville has no narrow timeframe. All I know is that it's releasing this year, likely on TVO Kids in Canada. Whether PBS as a whole will adopt it into its roster -- and if anything, it'll be WNET-exclusive, otherwise we would've heard something about it at the TCA Winter Press Tour a few days back -- for American audiences remains yet to be seen. Rest assured, though, that I'll be keeping an eye on it and rushing to it as soon as the first episode drops. After that, I'll give a proper addendum so I can finally put this issue to bed. Along with myself. Revenge bedtime procrastination is a bitch.

Thanks for reading. This honestly started out as something silly, but then I became analytical. So you got a mix of both in this one. This may or may not be the norm. Day-by-day, y'know?

Seren out.