#source: make some noise

[daily-zac-oyama]

(4/1/25) Make Some Noise s3e1: A Cutscene in a Video Game That's Glitching Out

[resident-wof-expert]

Bigtail: Hey! Where's my lunch money, huh? You little squid! Go back to the ocean, you little squid!

Turtle: I'm gonna give you one opportunity to apologize.

Bigtail: You're not gonna give me anything but your lunch money, squid!

Bigtail, grabbing Turtle by the collarbone: Or I'm gonna put you down the toilet, so you can get a little bit of that water that you love so much!

Turtle: Sticks and stones may break my bones.

Turtle: AND I WILL BREAK YOURS!!!

Turtle: *reaches his arm out* AAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!!

Bigtail: *being slowly torn in half* AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!

Turtle: *panting heavily*

Turtle, turning to Webs: Are we gonna learn about dinosaurs today? :)

[paldea-elite-four-quotes]

Larry: If you were to throw say, a raisinet, how fast do you think it would go? Rika, lightly confused: Per..? Larry: Miles per hour. Rika: I'm sorry, if I were to throw a raisinet- Larry: A raisinet, just one. Rika: Like, covered in chocolate? Larry: I would say so.

[redbullgivesyouwingedkuriboh]

(filming a commercial)

Atticus:

chAIN! WALLETS!

shirts with Jack skellington, that ... boney, boney, boy!

how would you like to see...

an influx of customers

solely due to the sudden

rrrrrrrapid

suc--cess

of...

HAZ-BIN HO-TEL - WE'RE BACK BABY!

[toomanyincorrectquotes]

Harley: i can’t do survivor. i would take one step on the beach and die of a yeast infection

[inevitablemoment]

Out of Context Spoilers for Chapter 17 of Our Guiding Star

[gummi-ships]

Kingdom Hearts II Official Strategy Guide (Source) Sora's Forms

[sibillascribbles08]

20 ^.^

Here have this at 10PM

Okay not married in this one but there's no way Jason wouldn't have learned about this kinda early on so it makes sense

Jason became shockingly familiar with “turtle” noises.

He couldn’t correctly call them turtle noises because he’d done his research. Turtles did make a variety of sounds, but for the most part the mutation—along with learning to speak human language—kept his boyfriend and his brothers from sounding like they would normally.

Not that they were completely without their strange sounds. Raph would frequently hiss when he was frightened. Leo made a bunch of strange chirps when he was annoyed—and thought no one was watching. And Mikey had a whole list of squeaks that he’d let out when he was excited or happy. 

Donnie had his own list of strange noises, though most of them Jason just chalked up to his brand of weirdness. Every single emotion seemed to have its own designated sound to go with it. Hisses, growls, squeaks, squawks, snorts, and everything in between. 

Jason got used to these noises. After eight months he’d gotten pretty good at deciphering them even. There goes the, “Donnie took a bite of something he doesn’t like” noise. That was the, “Donnie is straining himself to reach for a tool because he’s too lazy to get out of his chair” noise. And how could they ever forget the bizarre giggling sound that occurred when a new invention finally worked. 

After eight months, Jason assumed he’d heard it all.

But then…

He definitely didn’t do it on purpose. He left the lab to grab some snacks and some drinks and returned to see Donnie focusing on nothing but sliding two small bits of metal together. Jason approached from behind, watching for a bit before he leaned over to place the juice box on the desk.

The motion made Donnie jump, and as he did he squeaked.

Not a typical human gasp or shriek in the slightest. No. It had the same loud and drawn out noise as a windshield wiper on a dry windshield. 

Jason stared at him, eyes wide. 

“Jase, be more careful.” Donnie shook his head, acting casual like that insane noise hadn’t just left his throat. “These pieces are delicate.” 

Jason just kept staring, the sound looping in his memory as if to burn it into place. 

Donnie finally noticed his stare and lifted his goggles. “What?”

“Did you just make that noise?” 

He narrowed his eyes. “What noise?”

“That squeak, when I surprised you.”

“Scoff, like you haven’t heard me squeak a dozen times.” 

“Not like that!” Jason insisted. He put down his own drink and the bag of chips. Could he recreate the sound? He had to at least try. 

At least after eight months he knew how to make the softshell jump. 

Even easier to do when Donnie reached for the juice box. Jason lightly poked him under the shoulder right where his scales gave way to his plastron.

Donnie squeaked again. The same noise, though much shorter this time. 

“Oh my god,” Jason gasped.

“Will you knock it off!” Donnie swatted at his hand. “It’s not that strange.”

“You sound like a windshield wiper!”

“Rude, like humans don’t make their own weird noises.”

Jason would have argued that, only to get interrupted by a jab to the same spot. A high pitched squeak escaped his throat and he scrambled back before his boyfriend could try again.

“See? You sound like a dehydrated mouse.”

Jason glared. “What does that even mean?” 

Donnie smirked at him. “Tiny voice but with a hint of gravel.” 

He rolled his eyes and dared approach close enough to take his juice back. “Sorry for being curious when my boyfriend makes a sound I haven’t heard before.”

“You really haven’t?” Donnie tilted his head. “It’s not like I hide it.” 

“You tend to make a lot of other squeaky noises. Just what’s up with that one?”

“A remnant from my time as a turtle, I believe.” He lowered his goggles again and got back to work. “At least based on what little I could dig up. Turtle noises are not commonly recorded.” 

Jason sipped at his juice and finally plopped down in the other swivel chair. “So red sliders also chirp?”

“When they’re distressed, yes. Leo’s embarrassed of that one, but he never kicked the habit.” Donnie chuckled and then hunched over on his desk, his face inches from the metal he was working with. 

Jason scooted over, making sure he was loud about it this time before he lifted his legs and rested them on Donnie’s lap. The softshell didn’t push him off, so he stayed there and opened the bag of chips. 

Donnie held out a hand toward him. Jason extended the bag, letting his boyfriend dig out a few chips to munch on before resting it back on his lap and taking a few himself. 

“So, how much more of this do you have to work on?” 

“It will be less if you don’t interrupt me again.” Donnie stuck his tongue out as he attempted again to fit the metal together. 

“Fine, but when this is done we’re watching a movie.” 

Donnie chuckled. “Does the dragon crave cuddle time?”

“Watch it, I can kick you in the chin from here.” 

“Yes yes, movie after. Now let me work!”

Jason stopped talking, at least, but he crinkled the bag a lot when he reached in for some more chips and made sure to crunch on them extra loud. 

“Jase,” Donnie hissed. “Please.” 

“Fine,” he grumbled with his mouth full. He ate his chips quieter, thinking through the silence. 

Just what exactly would it take to get Donnie to make that hilarious noise again?

[daily-zac-oyama]

(3/27/25) Make Some Noise s3e19: A Takedown of Billionaires Rihanna, Beyoncé, and Oprah

[valeriehalla]

I am so utterly fascinated by “Saki”, the 18-year-running mahjong manga in which you, the reader, become gradually, frog-boilingly aware (over the course of nearly two decades’ worth of mahjong tournaments) that none of these girls are wearing underwear and most of their boobs are slowly expanding.

I need you to understand that I have, like, an anthropological level fascination with this comic. From the perspective of someone who is also a comic artist and writer, two things delight me about it:

the fact that I understand completely how an artist gets from “the fans can have a little hint of skirted asscheek” to “the pussy is completely out on center page” over the course of 18 years; and

the way in which the pussy being out is treated by the characters and diegesis as being utterly unremarkable.

Okay. Point 1. The frog-boiling.

Let me put this in perspective for you. There was already a meme about how the characters in “Saki” don’t wear underwear when I was in middle school. I am thirty now. Okay? And it’s still going.

In the time since, this has stopped being a joke. It is now indisputable canon. This is not because anyone outright says it at any point. It’s because the underwear ran out of places to hide. I’m obsessed with this thought: somewhere in the over 20 volumes of “Saki”, there is a panel in which underwear was objectively deconfirmed. And it would be so hard to figure out where that panel actually is. Maybe the artist didn’t even realize it when she drew it! The frog? Boiling!!

And of course there is also the breast expansion. I don’t know how to put a spin on this. They are just expanding. Like, this happens a lot with artists: you define a character as being, in your mind, “the one with the big boobs”, and over the years you emphasize that trait further and further so that the signal doesn’t get lost in the noise. It’s just that normally—in like a wildly popular manga series about mahjong published by literally Square Enix, for example—normally there would be a point at which the boobs stopped getting bigger. Like, an editor would step in or something. Or you would get to the point where you cannot draw the character in the same panel as her mahjong tiles without her breasts spilling over the tiles, and you’d go, “Well, this is now untenable.”

That did not happen. There is no ceiling. The frog is soup.

Point 2. The complete and utter mundanity of all of this.

It’s like this, okay: there’s no shortage of trashy ecchi manga out there. There’s a million other comics doing wildly bawdier things with wildly more improbable bishoujos.

The vibe with “Saki” is different.

It’s hard to explain this, but it feels like the world of the comic is fundamentally uninterested in the fanservice happening on the page. I cannot describe it as “leering”, because I cannot conceive of a person in the story from whose point of view one would leer. I think the artist is probably into it—I can’t imagine anyone is making her do this—but “Saki” the comic has no opinion on the matter.

There are essentially no male characters in “Saki”. Like, there was one guy? Kind of? At the very beginning? But he is gone now. They put him back in the toybox. He does not exist. It appears to be some level of canonical that in the world of “Saki”, almost all humans are women. Those women are sometimes romantically into each other. According to comments the artist has made on Twitter (which I cannot source), they have lesbian baby technology, so it’s no problem. It’s so much not a problem that the story is about mahjong, instead of any of that.

So, like, the fiction here appears to be this: this is the, like, meta-narrative of the fanservice of “Saki”, right: it’s just normal that they don’t wear underwear and their boobs are arbitrarily big. It’s been normal. It was normal before the story of the manga began. It’s just how things are. Nobody bats an eye about it, and if they do, it’s in sort of a lesbian kind of way so like what’s the problem, we love lesbians here. This is literally normal for girls.

The fanservice simply diffuses into this all-encompassing aura of disembodied, ambient sluttiness. The framing of the panels demands you acknowledge it, and the story demands you already be over it, because it’s mahjong time now, and we’re playing mahjong.

Do you get??? why I’m so fascinated??? Are you not a little enraptured???

Anyway, I have no idea how to end this weird post. I guess the conclusion is that women stay winning????

[pyrothecary]

cellos were invented first just so kallias could serve cunt. is that such a crime?

[hrrtshape]

　　　　things that won't stop you from shifting

　꒰ putting your dr on a pedestal , does not exist. it is not some glass castle suspended in the ether. it is a place like any other, as accessible as a room you haven’t walked into yet.　　

　꒰ fantasising about your dr , does not matter. your brain is not a courtroom and you are not on trial for thought crimes. imagining a place does not exile you from it.　　

　꒰ not knowing everything about your dr , won't impact. you do not need to be a historian of your own life. you do not need to have memorised the census records and economic structures of a world you are simply in.　

　꒰ being too attached to your dr , does not ruin it. urgency does not dismantle possibility. the sky does not fold in on itself every time someone desperately wants rain.　　

　꒰ not being "calm enough" , no one is breathing monkishly through their nose 24/7. you are not required to be an unmoved river stone. people shift after a long day at work. people shift mid-existential crisis. it is not yoga, it is not meditation, it is a thing that happens when it happens.　　

　꒰ doubting yourself from time to time , irrelevant. you do not need to pass a faith test. you do not need to be baptised in unwavering conviction. you just need to assume. doubt is a background noise, not a locked door.　　

　꒰ external validation , unnecessary. your reality is not waiting for someone else to confirm its legitimacy. you do not need a jury of peers nodding solemnly at your experiences. this is not an academic dissertation. you do not need footnotes and sources and a professor’s approval.　　

　꒰ "trying too hard" , not a thing. effort does not push it further away. want does not make it shy away. this is not an uncatchable fish. this is not a paradox where wanting something too much means you will never have it.　　

　꒰ failing to shift multiple times , irrelevant. past attempts do not predict future outcomes. you are not an athlete counting losses. you are not a gambler on a losing streak. every attempt is new. every moment is unburdened by the weight of the last one. 　

　꒰ an inconsistent sleep schedule , doesn’t matter. you are not being graded on your circadian rhythm. shifting does not belong exclusively to people with 8 hours of uninterrupted rem. 　

　꒰ using multiple shifting methods , neutral. you are not hexing yourself by switching it up. they are not magic spells, they are just tools. they are ways to organise your approach, not laws of the universe.　

　꒰ shifting while sick or in pain , possible. you do not need to be in peak physical condition. you are not signing up for a marathon, you are existing. bodies exist in all states. you are allowed to exist in all states.　

　꒰ not “feeling close” to shifting , doesn’t mean anything. shifting is not a feeling to be unlocked. you do not need to sense it coming like a change in the weather. it does not always announce itself.　

　꒰ having trouble visualising , won’t stop you. not everyone sees things like a movie in their head. imagination is not just images. it’s thoughts, impressions, instincts. a blind person can shift. a person with aphantasia can shift.　

　꒰ not affirming constantly , does not matter. you do not need to chant like a monk or plead sweet nothings into the void 24/7.　

　꒰ being distracted mid-shifting attempt , not fatal. you are not required to have monk-like focus. people shift thinking about their homework. people shift thinking about dinner. people shift thinking about absolutely nothing at all.　

　꒰ not having a specific shifting method , does not stop you. people shift lying down. people shift sitting up. people shift standing. people shift in moving cars. you do not need a formula to do something natural.　

[incorrectcampcampbellquotes]

Agent Miller: Look, we're just trying to have a conversation about what happened today. Ered: You shouldn't tell us shit. We are not your fucking friends, okay? Get a lawyer in here, take care of yourself, you have nothing to lose but your chains. Remember that. Agent Miller: Uh, yeah. Or just, you know, we were just looking at this window of 2 to 3:30 today, there was sort of a loud noise near your apartment... Ered: I am here to feed intel to the revolution. You should burn this fucking place to the ground, but again, keep your mouth shut. Anything you say, this motherfucker's gonna twist it against you. Agent Miller: Alright, well, listen -

[mrsbuckybarnes1917]

Touch Starved

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader Summary: This was inspired by a tweet and his gif I saw on twitter. You accidentally walk in on Bucky touching himself when he thinks he is alone. Turns out he is thinking about you. A/N: Unbeta'ed, so sorry for the mistakes! Warnings: NSFW but not that explicit. Word count: 1,379 words

The team had made a last minute decision to go out, but you weren’t in the mood to join them. It has been quite a while since you’d had some time to yourself, and you happily retreated to your quarters with a bag full of late-night snacks in tow.

The thought of having the living area all to yourself was oddly comforting. There was something incredibly liberating about walking through the quiet corridors alone. After carefully stashing your snacks in the kitchen, you glanced around the hallway to ensure no one was around. Satisfied that the coast was clear, you stepped out of your room wearing an oversized t-shirt and a pair of fluffy socks.

The polished floors gleamed under the fluorescent lights and begged you to indulge in one of your guilty pleasures: dancing and sliding across the freshly waxed surface. You were mid-slide, grinning to yourself like the Cheshire cat, when an unexpected groan pierced the silence.

The sound startled you, nearly making you lose your balance as you skidded to a stop. You scanned the corridor, heart pounding in our ears, as you tried to pin point the source of the noise.

You were met with silence for a few moments. Just as you had convinced yourself that your imagination was getting the best of you, you heard it again. Only this time, it was unmistakable— it sounded like your name.

Your eyes caught a glimpse of a crack in one of the doors. Immediately, you knew that it was the source of the sound. Approaching slowly, you realized that it was Bucky’s room.

Shit! You thought back to earlier, replaying the moment you watched the others leave. Had Bucky gone with them? You didn’t remember seeing him head out. Could he still be here?

A soft, almost pained whimper reached your ears, followed again by your name.

Without hesitation, you pushed open the door, a growing sense of dread and concern rising inside you. Bucky often had nightmares— you’d heard his anguished cries echoing in the dead of night. You didn’t want to let him suffer for a minute longer than necessary— not if you could help it.

But as you silently pushed open the door, the sight before you stopped you in your tracks, stealing the breath from your lungs.

Your eyes were immediately drawn to the super soldier, sprawled out on the bed. He was shirtless. You could see the muscles in his abdomen rippling like waves as he writhed around on the mattress.

Another muffled groan escaped him and your eyes were drawn to the pillow he had clamped over his face. It would have been an alarming image, if it wasn’t for the fact that his pants were undone and his flesh hand was wrapped firmly around his cock.

You froze. Every single coherent thought vanished from your head in an instant. You stood in the doorway, mouth parted in silent shock as a flush of heat rushed to your face as your brain scrambled to process what you were seeing.

This is not what you had expected. At all.

Your instincts told you to turn around, to leave and grant him the privacy he so clearly thought he had. But for some reason, your feet refused to move. You stayed rooted to the spot as a cocktail of emotions swirled inside you— shock, embarrassment and lastly desire.

Only when he groaned your name again, the sound muffled by the pillow but clear enough to send a shiver down your spine and a flood of heat between your legs. Your heart raced as you realized that he wasn’t just lost in the moment— he was lost in the thought of you.

Your instincts finally kicked in, belatedly propelling you to turn on your heels and leave as quickly and quietly as possible. But your socks betrayed you, letting out a squeak against the polished floor.

Bucky’s movements stilled.

“Shit,” you heard him mutter under his breath, his voice low and filled with mortification. There was a rustle of sheets and before you could fully escape, his voice called out.

“Who’s there?” His words came out sharp and panicked.

You came to a halt outside his room, cursing your hesitation. You glanced around the corner just in time to see him sit up, clutching the tiny pillow against his lap, as though it could shield him from the situation he had found himself in. HIs face was flushed, his chest heaved and his wide blue eyes locked onto yours.

“Fuck,” he whispered, his voice cracking, overwhelmed by shame. He rubbed at the back of his neck with his vibranium hand. “I… I didn’t know anyone was—”

“I’m so sorry!” you blurted out. “I—I mean to, I shouldn’t have—” Words failed you, and you swiftly darted out into the hallway, hiding around the edge of the doorway.

But you didn’t go far.

Your heart was pounding loudly in your chest and for some reason, your legs felt like lead, stopping you from running away. You pressed your back against the wall, taking a shaky inhale to calm your thundering heart and trying to process what had just happened.

You needed to keep walking. You should be retreating to your room where you could pretend none of this ever happened. You should. But you didn’t. You couldn’t.

Something was pulling at your strings, master of puppetry controlling your actions, refusing to let you leave. It was desire. The way he had said your name— with so much longing— played in your mind on a loop. You hadn’t missed the way his body moved, the vulnerability he’d displayed on his flushed face. And then there was the way his eyes had widened with shock when he realized it was you.

Before you could truly think about your actions, your feet had started carrying you back to the door. You hesitated for a second but the pull inside you— the part of you that craved him— propelled you forwards.

You stepped back inside.

His face was crimson, his chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. Was it anger? Embarrassment? Or… something else entirely?

You couldn’t decipher the expression on his face but the tension in the room weighed down on both of you.

Wordlessly, you approached him, sitting down on the edge of the bed. The mattress dipped slightly under your weight, and he immediately curled in on himself, clutching the pillow tighter to his chest. His body was angled away from you, his gaze fixed on the wall, refusing to meet yours.

You shuffled closer, moving carefully, unsure if he wanted you to stay or to leave. He didn’t move, he didn’t speak, he didn’t give you any indication that he was aware of your presence. But you could feel the tension radiating from him like a forcefield. His knuckles were white against the fabric of the pillow, and he sat so rigidly it was as if his body didn’t know how to relax anymore.

“Bucky,” you whispered softly, your voice filled with kindness and affection.

Still, he didn’t respond. He seemed paralyzed, trapped in this moment of shame and uncertainty.

Slowly, you reached out, unable to control the tremble of your hand as you cradled his cheek. He flinched at first, his body stiffening, but he didn’t pull away. You kept your touch gentle but deliberate, and when he didn’t resist, you applied the lightest pressure to turn his head toward you.

At long last, his eyes met yours— his pupils dilated, unfocused and vulnerable.

You held his gaze, letting the air between you grow heavy with meaning. Your thumb brushed fondly against the stubble on his jaw, and you leaned in slowly, deliberately, giving him every chance to pull away.

He didn’t.

When your lips first met his, they moved slowly, with tenderness, almost searching. You gave him the opportunity to object… he didn’t. And suddenly the heat building inside you made it impossible for you to hold back. You deepened the kiss— conveying your longing— leaving no room for doubt, no room for misinterpretation. You wanted him.

And as his lips began to respond to yours, the pillow slipped from his grasp, forgotten as he surrendered to the intensity of your connection.

[mischievousmoony]

𝚍𝚘𝚞𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚣𝚎𝚛𝚘

⟢ frat boy!james potter x fem!reader ⟢ a guy makes unwanted advances on you at a frat party, and the president comes to your aid ⊹ 3.0k ⟢ warnings/tags: alcohol, unwanted advances + touching and sexist comments from another character, james gets aggressive confronting said character, american!james hehehe (not that it's explicitly stated)

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

By your third visit to the crowded, beer-scented kitchen, your features have set into a deep scowl. You groan, slumping against the wall—only to immediately push yourself off, unwilling to let the exposed skin of your back come into contact with any part of the frat house you're in. Was the wall sticky, or have you started sweating from the heat of all the drunk bodies around you? Either option makes you cringe.

Tonight was supposed to be fun. Frat parties weren’t exactly your ideal night out, but your best friend had dragged you to this one with the promise of a fun time. But your night has quickly turned into a wild goose chase after she disappeared with some guy.

"Are you okay?" a voice calls from your left, barely audible over the music that's starting to make your head pound. You realize that you had started pinching the bridge of your nose. When you lower your hand and turn your head, you find a pair of kind eyes staring down at you.

He introduces himself as Todd after you explain that you've been looking for your friend for half an hour to no avail. With a sympathetic smile, he offers to help, which you gratefully accept. Anything to find your friend and put this dreadful night to an end.

"Are you, like, one of the brothers?" you ask, noticing the letters on Todd's cap as you follow him through the house, but it's a little too dark to make them out. Not to mention, you don't really remember which fraternity your friend even brought you to tonight.

"Nah," Todd shouts over his shoulder. "Not here." He doesn't provide any more information than that as he changes the subject, suggesting the two of you search the backyard.

"I thought the yard was off limits,” you shout as you speed walk to catch up with him. He’s walking so fast that you barely have time to consider why he would think your friend would be outside.

Stepping into the cold, he explains, "Apparently their neighbors complained about the noise last weekend, so they're trying to keep the party inside. But a couple of quiet people shouldn't be an issue. It's nice to be away from all the noise, eh?"

You shudder when the night air hits you, hugging your arms around yourself tightly and attempting to smooth away the goosebumps already prickling on your skin.

"Maybe if it wasn't freezing."

You look around at the back yard, finding it completely empty except for a thin layer of fallen leaves and scattered beer bottles hidden in the uncut grass. Todd is leading you straight across the lawn, farther away from the house and any source of light. You’re starting to get a weird feeling about this—and Todd—so you slow to a stop while he continues to head deeper into the darkness.

"Hey, I don't think my friend is gonna be out here. I'm gonna keep looking inside–"

"What's the rush?" Todd's demeanor changes when he notices you’re falling behind. He quickly closes the distance between the two of you again in two strides.

You release a dry laugh, realizing that you've been too trusting, and your tone turns serious. "I should really find my friend."

"You said she was with a guy, right? C'mon just let her have her fun." Todd drops his voice an octave, trying to sound seductive, but it comes across embarrassingly forced. "Maybe we can have some fun too."

When he reaches to touch the side of your face, your mood starts to change from a little let down and slightly annoyed to seriously pissed off.

"Don't," you say coldly, jerking your head away from his touch.

"Aw, c'mon," he continues to try to coax you, still somehow thinking he has a chance at convincing you. When his fingers graze your sides, you shout at him to keep his hands off, but instead, he slides them to your waist, holding you firmly.

"Let go!" you demand, planting you hands firmly on his shoulders and pushing. He chuckles at your feeble attempts, making you angrier, so you switch tactics. You wrap your hands around his wrists and pry his hands off, applying a pressure to the inside of his wrists that makes him release you with a hiss.

There's an angry voice in the distance shouting "Hey!" presumably at the two of you. You hear the steady sound of footsteps growing louder—one of the brothers probably coming to yell at you for sneaking into their backyard. You're a little too busy to care as you stomp away from Todd.

Todd doesn’t seem to notice the newcomer either. Too absorbed in the sting of your rejection, he starts getting angry too.

"Don't be such a prude," he snaps. He catches your wrist and pulls you back to him with a swift tug, spinning you around to face him. You draw your free arm back, using the extra momentum from the spin to your advantage as you punch him squarely in the jaw.

The punch throws him off balance, sending him stumbling back. His foot catches on an empty beer bottle, twisting his ankle as he loses his footing and crashes onto the grass with a heavy thud.

You stand above him, a little stunned at your actions. Todd is whining pathetically about the pain from the punch to his face, and the pain from the fall to his ass.

Someone jogs up beside you, and you can feel their gaze darting back and forth between you and Todd.

"Nice punch," he says, a little out of breath.

"Thanks," you reply flatly, only now starting to process that you—with the help of a beer bottle—sent this man tumbling to the ground.

"Alright," the mystery man says like he's about to get to work. He steps into your line of sight, looming over Todd for a moment.

He has a mop of dark curls spilling out from under a red baseball cap sitting backwards on his head. The cap matches his letterman-style jacket, which clings to his broad frame, drawing attention to his muscular body. Under different circumstances, this is a view you’d appreciate.

He bends down and grabs Todd by the collar of his shirt, roughly pulling him to his feet. Even with both of them standing, he still towers over him.

"Hey, man. What's up?" he asks Todd, his casual words contrasting with his abrasive tone.

"That slut just punched me!" Todd shrieks.

You roll your eyes. How pathetic.

He tightens his grip on Todd's shirt collar, using it to shake him roughly. "Watch your fucking mouth or I'll be the next," he threatens, and Todd goes quiet.

Your eyes widen at his sudden sharpness. Almost involuntary, you shift your position, angling yourself to get a clear look at the boy’s face. Black rimmed glasses sit lazily on the bridge of his nose, under his furrowed brow as he glares daggers at Todd. His eyes are big and brown, almost seeming out of place against the hard scowl carved into his features.

"Here's what's gonna happen," he continues. "First, you’re blacklisted. You’re never stepping foot in my house again. And what's this?"

He plucks Todd's hat off his head, inspecting the letters with a scoff before tossing it to the ground. "Of course. I'm sure nationals will be happy to hear about how you've conducted yourself tonight."

Todd's eye twitches at the threat. "Let's not pretend I was doing anything she didn’t want. Look at the way she’s dressed—flaunting herself, just begging for attention."

"What did you just say?" he seethes.

"James, c'mon," Todd says, revealing the name of the taller boy. He speaks with a nonchalance that makes James' nostrils flare, angered by his dismissiveness of the situation.

You begin to wonder how they know each other when James sets him straight.

"Who the hell do you think you're talking to? My friends call me James, you don't get to call me shit. The fuck do you think this is, man? I catch you in my backyard putting your hands on a girl who clearly doesn't want anything to do with you and you think you can talk to me like we're friends? I don't even know who the hell you are."

Your eyes must be bulging out of your head by now. It feels like you’ve been dropped into a scene from a movie—an exposé on the dark side of greek life, or maybe the mafia. Not knowing much about either, it’s hard to say, but the backward hats and pounding music from the house quickly remind you of where you are.

James lowers his voice, his tone dipping into something almost menacing. "But I’ll find out from your brothers, and when I do, you’re finished here. Done. Now come on."

Todd flinches as one of James' hands clasps over the back of his neck with a sharp smack. There were some other guys you hadn't noticed before back near the house, to whom James hands Todd over.

Once James notices that you're still standing in the middle of the yard, he jogs back over. On his way, he takes off his hat, running his fingers through his hair to loosen his curls.

"Hey," he says in a soft voice, vastly different from the one he used on Todd. "Are you okay?"

The change in his demeanor catches you off guard. You exhale while you collect your thoughts, a steamy white cloud filling the space as your warm breath meets cool air.

"That was intense," you say. You don’t mean to dodge his question, but he did just switch from mafia boss levels of threatening to sunshine and rainbows.

James breathes out a laugh. "Sorry about that. Gotta be a hardass with some of these dicks, especially ones like that. Part of the job."

You raise an eyebrow, curiosity piqued, wondering what job he's talking about.

James reads your expression, and stands up a little straighter as he introduces himself. "President James, at your service." With an exaggerated wink, he tugs at the edge of his jacket, pulling it taut to show off the letters sewn over his chest.

You nod in understanding. "Well, thank you for stepping in, Mr. President," you say, a slight tease coloring your tone.

A smile like sunshine overtakes his lips. "No need to thank me, really. Anyway, you handled it pretty well before I got here. That was some punch—is your hand alright?"

You had forgotten about that. Splaying your fingers out in front of you, you inspect your knuckles. "Mhm. Fine. I don't think I can feel my limbs anyway." You wrap your arms back around yourself, the cold become almost unbearable in your tank top.

"Shit, yeah, it's cold out here, isn't it?" James holds his hat between his teeth, freeing his hands as he strips off his jacket. Your eyes linger on his toned arms for a moment too long, and suddenly his hat has made its way back onto his head and he's holding his jacket out for you.

"May I?" he asks.

As much as you want to say no, you truly are freezing, so you let yourself be draped in his warmth and the scent of his cologne. The fabric has an unexpected weight to it, almost offering a comfort similar to an embrace.

James rubs his hands up and down over newly blanketed arms to encourage some warmth into them. James studies your face with softened eyes, his tone taking on a more serious note.

"Hey, listen... I'm really sorry that happened to you. Everything he said, and did–"

"It's alright," you interrupt.

"It's not. That shouldn't be happening. Not at my house—not anywhere. I'm really sorry you had to deal with that creep. And if you wanted to take it to the school, I'd be more than willing to–"

"No, no. That's more trouble than he's worth."

James nods, respecting your decision. "For what it's worth, I'm gonna make sure he won't be allowed in any of the parties around here anymore. I doubt I can get him completely blackballed, but I'll do what I can."

You offer James a small smile in response. You're glad to hear that, really, but now that Todd's gone and that's all over, your main concern is finding your friend and getting the hell out of here.

"Why don't you let me give you a ride home?" he offers, almost like he can read your mind. His kind, brown eyes almost make you want to say yes. But after the night you've had, you owe it to yourself to be a little less trusting.

"I don't know." You bite the inside of your cheek while you decide if you should disclose your current dilemma. James does seem eager to help. Deciding to tell him, you say, "I was looking for my friend."

James is quick to offer his assistance. "Who's your friend? Maybe I can help."

You tell him your friends name and recount what she was doing when you saw her last. "She ran off with this guy. Long black hair, leather jacket, I think I heard his name but it was something... unique."

James sucks in a breath through his teeth. "Sounds like Sirius."

"Sirius, yes! That was his name." You're momentarily excited, thinking that James could actually help, but the look on his face squashes the feeling promptly.

"Yeah, uh," James scratches the back of his neck awkwardly, "Sirius left with a girl like an hour ago. About yay high," he holds his hand out to your friend's height. "Tan. Brown hair."

You sigh. Some best friend you have. Here you are, searching for her endlessly, and she's ditched you at the party she brought you to.

"She was your ride, I’m guessing?" The corner of James' lip quirks up in a sorry half-smile as you nod. "It really is no trouble for me to drive you home."

You tap your foot on the ground anxiously. You're really wanting to just accept his offer. He seems nice enough, but there's still a little voice in the back of your mind telling you to be careful.

"I just... I don't really know you."

"Understandable," James starts. "But... you kinda do. I'm pretty sure we have chem together."

"I don't think so." You think you’d remember a muscly, likely rambunctious, frat boy in your boring chem class.

"Okay, I was playing it cool,” James’ teeth graze his lower lip in a bashful manner. “I know we have Chem together—with Professor Brown? Tuesdays and Thursdays. You sit in the front row. Y/N, right?" James looks a little sheepish as he recalls your name.

You nod slowly, really looking at James for the first time, trying to place him. Then it hits you—you do remember him. He sits a few seats down from you in chem, always rigorously taking notes and asking questions you wouldn’t have thought of (but are glad to have the answers to). Seeing him like this, though, is such a contrast to the smart guy from class that you didn’t even recognize him at first.

You feel a heat creep up the back of your neck. You’ve only ever spared him a few glances, but you’ve always thought the smart guy from chem was pretty cute.

"Oh. Oh, right. I–I'm sorry I didn't recognize you. You're James Potter." You try the name on your lips, realizing the name didn't click because you had only ever heard your professor call him by his last name.

"That's me," he grins. "And don't worry about it."

You give him a nod, a bit awkwardly. He seems like a good guy, but you’re still not sure if you want to get in his car. "Well, James, I should probably just call an Uber or something anyway. I don't know if you've been drinking or anything so..."

"Oh!" James holds up a finger, stuffing his other hand into his pocket and pulling out a black rectangle. You mistake it for one of those big, clunky box vapes and almost want to roll your eyes. But then, James surprises you by blowing into it instead of breathing in.

The device beeps, and he shows you the little digital screen, previously hidden behind his hand, that reads "0.00" over a glowing green background.

"Haven't had a drop," he confirms. "I haven't smoked or anything else, either. Not my thing."

"Why do you own a breathalyzer?" you ask, a little dumbfounded.

"So I can breathalyze people," he shrugs, fiddling with the device—tossing it a few inches up in the air and catching it.

You raise your eyebrows at him, not satisfied with his non-answer.

“Sorry,” James chuckles at himself. "Uh, I have a lot of people leaving my parties trying to tell me they're sober enough to drive. I got loads of these ‘cause they can't argue with the numbers... as much as they might try to."

"Where did you even get that?" you ask. You can't imagine there's a very big market for personal breathalyzers.

"You can get almost anything with Prime delivery!" he says it like he's proud as he tucks it back into his pocket. "Hey, you want one? I've got a drawer full back in the house." He points with his thumb over his shoulder.

You laugh, shaking your head at his offer. James laughs along with you, his lips curling into a boyish grin.

Well, if you’re going to put your trust in anyone else tonight it, it might as well be the smart boy from chem who takes safety seriously enough to own multiple breathalyzers.

You start walking towards the house. When you don’t hear a set of footsteps following behind, you call over your shoulder, "Come on."

James catches up quickly, happy to be invited to join you. "Where are we going?"

"To your car so you can give me a ride home."

From the corner of your eye, you watch his face break out into a wide grin. And from there on out, there's an extra pep in his step as he leads you to his car.

When you're safe and sound, back in the comfort of your own room, you flop onto your bed with a dreamy look on your face. You hug the jacket closer to your body, thankful for the excuse to talk to him in chem on Tuesday. Little did you know, he let you keep the jacket so that you'd have one.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

[melyzard]

The media banning is really starting to ramp up. (Source: Japanpower.com, Mar 23, 2025)

Maybe they won't arrest you for owning Persona 5 on Steam....but let's say you go to a protest or make some noise in public that's anti-government, or you just annoy someone in power (by, possibly, simply existing). And your house gets raided, your 'inappropriate depictions of a minor' get found, and now you're in front of the judge for child porn and people are not running to your defense because gosh, well, um, you're kinda making the movement look bad, you know?

Oh, and don't think anyone will be let off on technicalities - even if all the characters are above 18, if they *look* like minors (have you ever seen an anime or one of those waifu dating sims?), then it counts.

Yes, yes, more important things to worry about, real problems, blood being spilled, all true, all true but

You know. Just making conversation.