#they’re so angry and irritated all the time and and i am so normal

[nazumichi]

something about shirou that gives me the inexplicable urge to say “hm you’d look prettier if you smiled more” but alas, that is the marie thing to say.

[kingconia]

hi! are your requests open (feel free to delete this ask if not)? i love ur writing style! i’d like to request hcs of leona with an s/o who gets sick easily.. like if it’s cold, they’re sick but if it’s hot they’re also sick. my immune system is weak irl and i’d love to see this written (only if u can tho!!)

LEONA KINGSCHOLAR WITH S/O, WHO GETS SICK EASILY

— Leona grew up around beastmen, and other specific creatures, who rarely get sick, thanks to their strong immune system. So, when Leona notices how often you catch cold, he is absolutely confused;

— He is not even sure how it happens? Leona always makes sure to wrap some additional clothes around you, when it is chilly outside, and yet, you wake up with temperature as you cough your lungs out;

— You explain that it is natural for you, something that had been happening in your previous life too, and that yours immune system is that weak. Leona still having a hard time to proceed this fact;

— When winter ends, bringing back a warm and familiar to him weather, Leona relaxes. Surely, you are not going to fall sick in the spring, right? Right?!

— He is wrong. And desperate;

— The fact that you yourself don't even pay attention to your state, irritates him even more. What do you mean that's normal?! You can die! (He is such a drama queen, but isn't that sweet?);

— When Leona brings you to the Afterglow Savanna, thinking that there you will be safe here from any kind of diseases, and you still manage to lay down with temperature, Leona gives up;

— Or not really? He still thinks that, perhaps, there is some potion to fix the problem! And he is sure about being able to figure it out, sooner or later;

— But for now, Leona can take care of you! His laziness means nothing, when it is a question of your health;

— He can easily feed you, bring you medicine, and generally sit with you, when you are feeling weaker than usual. And if you sleep a lot, when you are ill, it is a perfect bonus!

— Leona will never admit, but he secretly likes being able to pamper you so much. A proud lion taking care of his great lioness!

•

”...Leona?”

”Hm-m?”

You open your mouth, but close it again, when you meet these emerald eyes of his.

There is a question you are meaning to ask him for a while, but all your attempts fail. Either because you get too nervous about to this topic, or because Leona distracts you effectively.

”Well?” He raises his eyebrows. ”Spit it out, herbivore.”

You scrunch your nose, watching him to put more meat on your plate. Leona seriously needs to stop calling ’herbivore’, when all he does it feeds you with meat...

”Don't you get annoyed?”

”I am always annoyed,” he chuckles with unhidden amusement.

”No way,” you roll your eyes. ”I mean... Don't you get annoyed that I am sick all the time? It is not fun to have me around, you know.”

Well, it is not like you are chained to the bed on the daily basis, of course! There are always weeks, when you have no troubles in paradise at all; much like right now. Yet, it still bothers you.

”And I am the fun to have around?” Leona huffs.

You shrug.

It is Leona. He might have a specific character—and a streak for angry issues—but deep inside, he is truly nice and comforting person. And, funny. Especially, when he mocks the headmaster.

“Oi, herbivore, are you serious?” He blinks, a genuine surprise paints his face for a second, before he sighs. ”Where it comes from?”

Well, it is only natural to be plugged by these thoughts. That is how things worked in your previous worlds, after all. You were troublesome in eyes of others—and your own—and even kind jokes from your friends about this matter, made you feel bad about yourself.

”Listen,” Leona frowns. ”I am not annoyed. What about I should be annoyed? It is how your immune system works, that's it.”

”Yeah, but,” you gesture vaguely in the air, ”I am not really a sport person, so we can't share some quality time together. And I even caught the fly, when we were in Savanna. Which was extremely embarrassing, by the way. And—”

Leona catches your hand in his, letting out another exasperated sigh. You instantly cut your speech, carefully starting to study an expression on his face.

”Tch. First of all, we have chess matches—that what am I calling a good quality time,” of course, he does. He wins all the time. ”Secondly... Yeah, of course, I was freaking out, when you got sick in Savanna—I mean, had you seen the fucking weather here?—but, you gave me a mighty excuse not only to skip meetings with Falena, but also sit without Cheka for a while. If it wasn't fun for you, sorry. But it was the best holidays in my life.”

You scoff.

Prince Cheka wasn't allowed in your chambers back then, his mother being worried that he might catch cold from you. And Leona seemed indeed happy by that...

”You are such an ass—”

”I am acting irritated sometimes,” he continues, ignoring your remark. ”But, I am not mad at you. If anything, I am just frustrated about how useless I am.”

Ah, what a sweetheart.

Your faces softens instantly, and your hand grips his tightly.

”...I love you.”

”Yeah, just no need to thank me. You are a perfect justification for missing classes, you know?”

...Nevermind.

”Leona, fuck o... Achoo!”

His lips curl in a smirk.

”Oh, seems like I am about to miss housewardens' meeting. Again. What a shame.”

You hate Leona sometimes. You really do.

[mythos-writes]

Angry Dutch

Max Verstappen x driver Reader

Plot: Even though they’re driving partners, they didn’t see eye to eye. But after a crash between the two Red Bull drivers, it could be the end of these two as driving partners…

This goes out to my friend, who has been very patiently waiting for this fic to be published :)

Formula 1 Masterlist

Word Count: 1.6K

Warnings: Angst, Swearing,

(Y/N) has been with Redbull for a few years, and everything has been great. Christian Horner loves her work, she gets along with the pit crew and has been a shining light within the paddock. But one person in the Red Bull racing group had an issue with her: the golden boy himself, Max Verstappen. She had already been with Redbull a few years before Max came in, and as soon as they No one knew why they just never got along. If anything went wrong, Max would blame (Y/N) immediately. 

It was race weekend in Montreal. The Red Bull garage was buzzing. Max and (Y/N) were tied in the standings and had the chance to get closer to winning the championship. This weekend was important for (Y/N). It was her home country's race. She was the talk of the weekend. All the Canadian media was wanting to do interviews with her, from sports outlets to just some local newspapers. 

As qualifying went, the two Redbull drivers placed well, pole for Max and third for (Y/N). The two drivers seemed to be able to get through a race weekend without fighting. Oh how wrong they were. When race day came, (Y/N) and Max seemed irritable that morning. The only time any press saw them together was when they were leaving the driver meeting, ever since then, they were not caught five feet from each other. When they got into the car, they were both hoping that this race was going to go smoothly. 

As the lights went out, the two Redbulls zoomed away, setting themselves first and second. The race was going smoothly. When they got to lap 10, (Y/N) was in first place, as Max went in for new tires, that’s when she realized that her radio failed, leaving her with no way to contact the garage and the team. That’s going the race quickly fell through their fingers. As the two Redbulls enter turn 8, (Y/N) made a mistake which caused Max to crash into her. Both cars went off into the gravel, forcing both Redbulls out of the race. Max hopped out of the car, fuming at what just happened. His gaze went to (Y/N) car, watching her climb out of the crashed car. Max stormed over to her, looking like an angry bull himself. 

“You absolute fucking bitch! You saw me coming and I know damn well that our mechanics told you to let me by! But instead, you crashed into my car!” he yells, catching her off guard.  

“My radio failed! I was driving for the past five laps with no direction!” she defends herself from the fuming Dutchman.

“You can’t accept that I am a better driver than you! You’re just a little girl who got here on daddy’s money and will be nothing just a driver that no one will remember!” then Max started to get in her face, both visors up, so they were looking at each other clearly. (Y/N) felt the weight of those words. her story was not like the Stroll family, coming from money, but her story was more like Lewis Hamilton’s. Coming from little money, parenting worked hard for the money, most of which went to racing. So when she landed in Formula 3 and worked her way up, it felt like a dream come true, her hard work and her parent's sacrifice paid off. 

Tears started to well up in her eyes, which caused Max to be worried. She normally never showed much emotion when it came to their arguments. They would trade blows, but they never crossed any lines. This time, Max crossed a line. 

“Fuck you… you utter self-entitled prick. You don’t know anything about my life so don’t make any fucking comments on it golden boy,” she spits before shoving past him and starting her trek back to the garage. They both knew that their little argument was caught on camera, as they fought on the track. Leaving many people wondering what was spoken between the two.

As she finally arrived back at the paddock, she was immediately greeted by her assistant and the waiting media. Many of them yelled questions at her, asking what had happened out on the track, and what was said to one another. (Y/N) just ignored them and stomped her way into the garage. 

She caught the attention of Horner. He rushed over to her about to bombard her with questions about what happened. (Y/N) stopped walking, held up her hand, and glared at the Team principal. 

“Don’t” was all she muttered, not trusting her voice, and stormed off to her driver’s room. 

Max followed in not that far after and was greeted with the same confused but furious Horner. 

“What happened out there?” he asked, knowing Max will give him an answer. 

“I went too far,” he says as he takes off his helmet and balaclava.

 “What do you mean too far?” “Our argument. I went too far,” Max clarifies. Horner has taken both drivers under his wing since they joined Redbull Oracle Racing. He knew that they did not get along, but he never thought they would cross any lines. 

“What are you going to do?” Horner asks. 

“Not sure. But I have to talk to her before she decides to leave early,” Max confirms. They both know if (Y/N) did not have a good race, she will leave the track early, miss all of her after-race duties, and meet with the FIA. 

(Y/N) had just finished changing out of her when rapid knocks startled her. She sighs before going to the door. She thought it was going to be Horner or her PR Manager getting her to go to the interviews. But she was greeted by the last person that she wanted to see. She tries to slam the door shut, but Max was faster. He caught the door and let himself in

“Please, I need to talk to you,” he pleads. 

“You did enough of that on the track,” she spits.“Come on please, I am sorry. I crossed the line,” he says. 

“You stepped over the line and then jumped off the cliff into the point of no return,” (Y/N) states, packing up her backpack so she can go to the hotel. 

“And I am sorry for that,” Max says, trying to slow her down a little.

“Ok and I don’t accept it. You have a lot of making up to do,” (Y/N) states. Max was panicking a little, which was a little out of character for him. Max grabbed her shoulder, making her turn around. She was expecting to be greeted by another apology but was greeted by his lips against hers. 

She was shocked, to say the least. She quickly pushed him off, grabbed her bag and raced out of her driver's room. Leaving Max behind, more confused and anxious than ever.

It had been a couple of hours since the surprise kiss from Max. It made her head spin and her heart beat as fast as a Formula 1 car. They never saw eye to eye, so having him kiss her made her rethink everything. 

She knocked on his hotel door, thinking he probably went out to party through Montreal. But the door opened, revealing a shirtless Max in PJ shorts. (Y/N) breath in her throat. 

“Um, could I come in?” she questions. Max looks back into his room, before opening the door more. She walked in observing the room, seeing that it was similar to hers. 

“So what are you doing here?” he asks, sitting at the edge of the bed. (Y/N) bit her lip, trying to get the words out. Actions speak louder than words. She moved over to stand in front of him and placed her hand on his cheek before placing a kiss on his lips. Max went stiff before welcoming her in. He wrapped his arms around her waist and brought her onto his lap. His hands move down from her waist and onto her butt. A moan fell from her lips, giving Max full access to deepen the kiss. Max moves away from her lips and starts to leave open mouth kisses along her neck.

“Max, what is going on? What is happening between us?” (Y/N) asks in between breaths. She was losing herself to the attention Max was giving her. He hummed against her neck before pulling himself away from her soft warm skin. 

“It is whatever you want it to be,” he says. 

“But you hate me,” she comments, playing with the hair that sits at the nap of his neck. 

“When did I say I ever hated you?” he questions, placing a kiss along her jaw.

“We always argued, we never saw eye to eye on anything, and…” her voice trailed off as he continued to kiss her neck, but moving down her chest. 

“Max I’m being serious,” she states, pulling the Dutch off of her. 

“You want to know what I thought about us?” he asks, allowing her to put an end to this. But she wants to know. 

“I was enamoured by you. You never let Horner or the media get to you. You are a strong and amazing person to have as a driving partner,” he says, melting her heart. “I want us to work on our relationship. To make it better and see where it goes,” he continues.

“Me too,” she says bringing him back into a proper kiss. They know they had much to work on, but this was a good starting point.  

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA if I told my friend that getting married is an awful idea?

Names changed for privacy. Some background info: one of my (22X) friends, Jay (22M) has been dating Ally (27F) for a little less than a year. Recently he informed us that he wanted to get married by June of next year. In the time that the two have been dating, we’ve noticed a few red flags ranging from “mildly irritating” to “alarming”. Without airing out all of their dirty laundry, here are a few of the issues we’ve noticed.

Ally seems completely uninterested in getting to know Jay’s friends. Our friend group has made an effort to reach out and include her for Jay’s benefit, but she remains standoffish. In fact, Ally’s siblings have made more of an effort to get to know us. Ally is also completely uninterested in Jay’s hobbies and they don’t really share any of them.

Furthermore, Jay has been pretty open about how they’re sexually incompatible: Jay is allosexual and has a normal-to-high libido and Ally is asexual. While it’s not a dealbreaker in a relationship, there hasn’t been an effort to work out this incompatibility leaving both unsatisfied with the situation.

Ally is also possessive in a way that seems like it could cause serious problems in the future. She’s become angry and jealous over very minute things. Off the top of my head, Ally has become jealous of me even though I have actually rejected Jay; another friend who has been in a long-term, committed relationship; and a third friend who is a lesbian and completely uninterested in men. I am concerned about that developing into a really toxic situation.

And finally: Jay and Ally are not in a financial position to get married. Jay cannot afford the engagement rings and has told us so numerous times. Ally wants a large, traditional, and fancy wedding that they cannot afford either. Neither are willing to elope or do a small wedding while holding a more extravagant affair later. Plus, both still live with their parents in a low-privacy environment and don’t have the means to move out.

Keeping that in mind, WIBTA for telling Jay that getting married is a bad idea, and why I think so?

What are these acronyms?

[mrvlbimbo]

Something isn't right here

Vampire!Eddie x reader

Pt 2

suggestive but no smut, blood drinking so there's that, its sexy blood drinking I'm warning y'all, feral Eddie, angst, hurt comfort kinda, Eddie is a vampire, his best friend is in love with him, not proofread bc its 3 in the morning and I want to go to bed right now

He still hadn’t woken up after a week and sleeping on the small chair next to his bed wasn’t doing anything for her aching muscles.

She had cried. More tears than she knew her body could hold, frantically shoveling back glasses of water so her eyes wouldn’t go dry.

She had cried. More tears than she knew her body could hold, frantically shoveling back glasses of water so her eyes wouldn’t go dry.

Her best friend just laid there, the best friend she had been in love with since freshman year.

She had wanted to tell him before everything happened. She was going to tell him and he had stopped her, saying whatever she was going to say could wait till after they saved the world.

And now he was going to die without knowing how she truly felt. He had died for a moment, by some bizarre twist of fate he had come back.

She thought maybe if he lived and if she was ever able to speak to him again then she would surely tell him.

It kept her there, the anticipation of him waking up so she could finally rid herself of this secret. She fantasized about that moment constantly.

And then the moment came, his eyes snapped open and he took a sharp intake of breath. He looked around frantically until his eyes fell on her.

“Eddie-“ she choked out.

“I’m dead. Am I? Dead…”

“No Eddie. You’re alive. You’re ok. It’s ok,” she sobbed, climbing into the hospital bed beside him and clinging to him.

The words she wanted to say didn’t seem to come, her lips forming around the words but not quite letting them go. I love you she said over and over again, but only in her head.

She flinched away when she remember the wounds on his stomach and neck, not wanting to irritate the open cuts.

He grabbed her with impressive strength, pulling her back against him. “It’s ok, they’re healed.”

Not until much later did she bother to think that it wasn't natural for him to have healed that fast.

Now that he was awake it was quick work getting him out of the hospital and into his own bed at home.

But things didn't go right back to normal. It was subtle things, but being with him constantly made it easy for her to notice that something was different.

He wouldn't leave his room, blinds drawn to keep out any sunlight. He also slept all day, ruining her sleep schedule because she insisted on being with him at all times.

Not that she really minded being cradled against his chest, basking in the comfortable heat of his blankets all day.

At nights he was restless and uneasy, hungry for something although he refused all the food she would offer him. It broke her heart to see it, something had changed inside of him and they were both terrified at what it could mean.

He was easy irritable, an anger he never had before lurking beneath the surface. He was never angry at her though, but that didn't make it any easier to be around him when he got into one of his fits of rage.

She would sit in the living room, softly crying as he trashed his room. She didn't know how to fix what was wrong with him, she didn't want him to hurt anymore.

"Eds, can I come back in?" she whispered, her whole shaking body leaning against the door of his room.

"Please. Please don't leave me alone." He lied on the floor, open gashes on his knuckles already stitching themselves back together with seemingly no blood involved.

"What happened?" she gasped, practically throwing herself down on the floor next to him.

"I-I don't know." She reached out her hand to him and he flinched away, tears in his own eyes as well.

"Eddie-"

"I'm scared..." he whimpered, shuffling away from her to put more space between them.

"Oh Eddie, c'mere." Her voice cracked with desperation, knowing he needed to be close to her but he wouldn't let himself for some reason.

"No. I don't- I wont- I don't want to hurt you." His eyes frantically searched the room for an escape, terrified of what he might do to her.

But then she looked at him with the most broken expression, a profound tiredness in her eyes. She looked like she was going to be sick, physically wracked with the stress of the past few weeks.

"Please, Eddie. I trust you, please let me help you." He hesitantly obliged, breaking down into full blown sobbing when she wrapped her arms around him.

She cried as well, tears falling down her cheeks and onto the top of his head. "Tell me what's wrong," she demanded, hands cupping his cheeks and wrenching his head from its place against her chest.

He shook his head, the force of his movement freeing him from her grasp. Then he dipped his head back down, nudging her neck with his nose and huffing lightly. "You smell so good," he mumbled, lips ghosting across her pulse.

"Eds-" she gasped, fingers curling in the fabric of the shirt stretched across his shoulders.

"Your blood. I can fucking hear it. I can hear your heart beating." He groaned, tugging her into his lap so she was straddling him and pressed against him in pretty much every way she could be.

"What? why? huh..." she tried with no luck to wiggle out of his constricting grasp. it wasn't his fault but she was starting to get lightheaded at him being so close.

"It smells so good." he took a long sniff, breath puffing against the spot he had been nosing at only a moment before.

"Uhm thank you I guess." She giggled a bit when his hair tickled her chest, a bit confused at what exactly was going on.

"Please. Can I..." he trailed off, looking up at her hesitantly.

"Its ok you can tell me." She nodded, eyes wide and innocent. She would do whatever he wanted her to.

"I need to taste it." Just the tips of his teeth started to press into her flesh, waiting far too patiently for her response.

"Y-yeah." Her voice shook, trying to hide how aroused she was from his cold hands cupping the back of her neck and his mouth slowly closing around her skin.

She practically grinded down on him while he started to suck on her neck, not yet breaking skin. He noticed her writhing ontop of him, hands coming down to hold her steady by the waist and (not so) accidentally slipping under her shirt. "Calm down, you're ok. You're safe."

"I know," she whimpered, bucking her hips against his again.

"alright, stay still for me. This is going to hurt a little." His teeth slowly breached her skin, tongue coming out to lap up the blood spilling out.

When there was a substantial gouge he pulled back to admire his work for a moment. Only a moment though before he was licking at the stream of blood flowing from her neck.

She felt his skin start to warm, if she had seen his eyes she would have seen a deep amber glint in them and the energy returning to his face.

"Eddie," she moaned, fingers tangling into his hair to keep his mouth on her neck.

It's not like he was going anywhere though, teasingly munching on every bit of her neck as the blood trickled down to his mouth. He was careful not to draw blood in any other spot, instead spreading the blood from his one bite all over her neck to mimic the feeling of biting down again.

It also gave him an excuse to run his lips and tongue over the expanse of her neck, able to feel the blood rushing in her veins just below his mouth.

He could hear her irregularly fast heartbeat and he knew despite her best efforts the poor girl was terrified. He pulled away, gently scooping her into his arms and laying her down on the bed.

Then he went back to his place at her neck, now laying mostly on top of her and lazily dragging his mouth over the blood stained skin.

She had called Steve earlier in a panic, describing everything that had been going on with Eddie. And of course he picked now as the perfect time to bust through the door with his gang of freshmen in tow.

"GUYS!" he called out into the trailer.

Eddie's head whipped back startled, a mostly unfamiliar protective urge clutching at his very soul. He wrapped his arms around her, weight now fully pressed on to her body beneath him.

Steve frantically ran into the bedroom, ignoring how Eddie growled when he opened the door. "We think Eddie is a vampire," Dustin spoke from behind him.

She looked up at him, mouth still shining with her blood. "oh...yeah that makes sense."

YAALLLLLL idk if I'm gonna do an official pt 2 but plz if u want to send HCs abt vampire Eddie im SOOOO game to hear them

[stxrmylxve]

Kazutora, Chifuyu, Draken, and Baji with an S/O who mockingly and comically imitates them when they argue and S/O is irritated, could be done as a headcanon with little blurbs of how they'd interact :3 (I don't know how, but all of them somehow won me over in the time I finished S2 of the anime and continued by reading the manga)

Kazutora:

“I’m so fucking done with this! Stop bringing little things up!” he yells as you glare from across the room, taking every word he said with a grain of salt

”I’m so fucking done” you mock as you roll your eyes, a small ‘tsk’ leaving your lips as you turned to face outside rather than his enraged face

“… You’re gonna’ mock me? Really?” he asks in disbelief, spinning your chair around to meet his stern gaze

Okay all I’m going to say is that he can be harsh, but it’s only because it’s how he grew up; he means no harm ever. He is a good arguer, and I would never want to get into a fight with him 😅

Chifuyu:

“Just because I have some random porn magazines doesn’t mean I’m cheating! I don’t even read them! Baji got them for himself whenever he comes over, you should know this by now!” Chifuyu explains, his voice going higher and higher with every word.

“And how do I know you’re not using him as a cover up?” you counter, stunning him just enough to make tears prick your eyes

”What??” he asks, quirking his eyebrows like a meme.

“What??” you say sarcastically, turning away as he looks away from you, guilty for making you angry and sad

He would get so worried over nothing :( He would kinda get sad if you were cause he was the one that had probably caused the ruckus, which he beat himself up for later on for countless days

Draken:

”You’re just.. such an idiot!” you yell as you huff and continue to brush your hair, ignoring his obviously mocking repeat under his breath.

“Dick.” you say under your breath as you walk out, bumping into his shoulder slightly as you left. He swoops under your legs and throws you over his shoulder, coralling you to the living room to throw you on the couch with a frown.

“I’m not a dick, but I have a hell of a pretty one.” he says with a smirk

Def tries to lighten up the mood, whether it works or not. Might throw in a crude joke here and there too just to get a reaction 🤷‍♀️

Baji:

“Okay so I liked one girl’s post, so what? She had a fuckin’ pretty bike!” baji explains as you roll your eyes

”So what? Oh please.” you say, brushing past him as you continue your chores, “How am I supposed to know the difference between it being innocent and it not? You run around a lot, you know.” you explain, setting down your things with a weak smile.

“I wouldn’t cheat on you, you know that as well as I do.” he says as he turns around and leaves, leaving to go do his own thing to leave you to do yours.

Fights? Nah. They never last long, and normally they’re petty and not even worth it half the time. Ultimately, you get your time alone and so does he, regrouping the next morning to move on.

[dumbstuffsstuff]

Admit It || Lee!Zhongli || Genshin Impact

Lol I lied guys, I am still hyperfixated on Genshin but I’ve also got new things coming and decided to write a fic just for funsies.

———

Zhongli is a very calm and charismatic man. He never gets overly excited, angry, or annoyed. This bothers Childe. How can Zhongli control his temper so well? One day, something manages to really get under the Geo Archon’s skin, and Childe is determined to make Zhongli admit that he’s angry.

———

Pairing: Zhongli and Childe

Lee!Zhongli

Ler!Childe

———

Zhongli, Rex Lapis, Morax, leader of the Adeptus, the Geo Archon. He goes by many names. Zhongli is a character, that’s for sure. No matter the situation, Zhongli always knows how to stay composed. He never lets anything get to him. He never takes criticism personal.

Most people enjoy this quality in Morax. By most, that means everyone except Zhongli’s (friend? rival? partner?) Childe.

Childe can be the exact opposite compared to Zhongli. While the ginger is normally a playful guy who likes to joke around, he is susceptible to losing his temper quickly. He gets irritated at small things. One of the small things being Zhongli’s ability to avoid annoyance.

It’s especially frustrating at times when Childe finds something to scold Morax about or when they’re arguing, and Zhongli will sip tea and avoid eye contact, all while brushing the redhead off and chuckling at his distress.

That all stands until today.

Childe had decided to stay in the hotel in Liyue for a few days to take some time off. He was stressing lately and needed a break. He lay on the cushioned sofa and tried to read a book to keep himself busy, but he was overall bored. That was until a trio burst through the door.

Childe jumps and whips his head around to see the intruders. It’s Aether and Paimon with a flustered Morax behind them. Aether is spewing affirmations at Zhongli in an attempt to comfort him, but the adeptus finds himself pacing around the hotel room.

“Yeah, just let yourself into my room why don’t you?” Childe teases and recieves a glare from Morax.

“Those fatui harbingers are nothing but rats,” Zhongli scoffs and flops down on the couch next to Childe.

“Whoa, hey now, I’m right here?” Tartaglia places a hand on his chest to look hurt, “what’s gotten into you?”

Aether clears his throat, “Uh we ran into some unfriendly harbingers… They really know how to throw around insults.”

Zhongli groans, “let us not retell the story.” He crosses his arms and taps his foot on the floor.

“No worries, Aether,” Childe waves, “I’ll handle it.”

Aether seems grateful and grimaces before awkwardly leaving the scene. Now it’s just the ginger harbinger and Rex Lapis.

“They had the audacity to make fun of me for not having any mora. I’m not broke, I just didn’t bring any with me!”

“Hold on,” Childe interrupts, “are you… angry?”

“Me?” Zhongli scoffs, “Not at all. I’m just confused!”

“You’re totally angry right now, look at you! You’re like steaming!” Childe laughs, “I’ve never seen you this emotional before.”

“I’m not!” Zhongli growls and glares at Childe again. At first, Childe is somewhat afraid. But a smirk forms on his face instead.

“It’s not healthy to hide your feelings,” Childe wraps an arm around Zhongli, placing his gloved hand on the other’s waist.

“I’m not hiding anything.”

“But you are~” Childe pokes his side, making Zhongli flinch, “just admit that you’re angry.” Childe begins to wiggle all ten fingers gently against Zhongli’s waist.

“N-No- Ajax! W-Wahat are you d-doing?” Morax squirms in his spot, afraid to make any other movements that may enhance the ticklishness of the ginger’s fingers.

“I’m tickling you,” Childe grins at the sight of a blush forming on Zhongli’s nose bridge, “I didn’t think you’re ticklish, Morax. But it appears you are.”

“I-Ihi’m nahat.”

“Then why do you laugh when I stroke your sides?”

“A-Ahaha… I-I’m nohot laughing- hrk!”

“Yeah right,” Childe then scribbles all over the dragon’s ribs, tickling up and down and poking each bone.

“PAHahahaha! C-Chihihilde! Stohop that!” Zhongli’s blush darkens, he tries to sound irritated, but his genuine smile doesn’t allow him to.

“See? You’re smiling now, isn’t it great?”

“NOHOHO! Ihit isn’t!” Childe kisses the back of Zhongli’s neck, brushing his long ponytail to the side to add to the sensations. Morax scrunches his shoulders to avoid the tickles, and squeezes his arms around his waist to stop the attack on his side.

“ChihiHIHILDE! PleheHEase! I-it- Ihit tihihickles!”

“Oh? So you ARE ticklish? You admit it?”

“Y-Yehehes!! Now stohohop!”

“Hmm… But you lied to be the first time. I think that shouldn’t go unpunished,” Childe creeps closer and closer to the dragon’s underarms. In return, Morax squirms and jolts to escape but he’s weakened by the tickling.

“AHA! Nonono! Chihihilde! NOHOT THEHERE! Plehehease!”

“Not here? Well, are you going to admit that you’re angry?”

“IHIHI AM NOHOT ANGRY!”

“Suit yourself,” he shrugs. He digs into Zhongli’s underarms and he goes nuts. Zhongli bucks his hips and screeches.

“AHAHAJAX!! PLEHEHEHEHEASE! STAHAHAP! IT REHEHEALLY TIHIHICKLES!”

“Wow! I didn’t expect you to be so ticklish!”

“SHUHUHUT UHUP!”

“Now that’s not nice,” Childe teases. He blows raspberries into his neck while continuing his assault on his armpits.

“BUAHAHAHAHAH! AHAHALRIHIHGHT! YOHOU WIN! YOU GOT MEHEHEE! QUIHIT IHIT!”

“I win? So you admit you were angry?”

“YEHEHEHHES! I ADMIHIHIT IT! STOHOHOHP IT!”

“Oh, alright,” Childe rolls his eyes and stops the attack. Zhongli curls in on himself, gasping for air and then leaning into the ginger.

“Aw look at you. Don’t you feel better?”

“Y-yehes… I-I feehehel much behetter. Thank you, Ajax…” Zhongli places a hand on Childe’s cheek, smiling.

“Ahem,” Childe enjoys the touch until he feels Zhongli begin to wiggle his fingers, “H-Hey!” Childe immediately gets up, letting Zhongli roll over onto the floor.

“Oho? What’s wrong Childe?”

“Zhongli…”

“Cant handle what you dish out, hm?”

“Stay back!” Childe blocks his exposed stomach and sprints out of the room.

“You can run, but i’ll catch you!” Zhongli chuckles and takes his time to catch Childe, since it wont be hard to.

Fin

———

[wawa-boonliang]

Flufftober Day 5: X+1

Summary: four times the kids needed help + one time they didn't. A one-shot based on my BNHA fic Never and Always, Eventually.

6.3k words

“I can’t believe you forgot!” Hizashi was yelling. Hitoshi froze. He’d never heard Mic raise his voice like that. He slowly put down the comic book he was reading and looked across the living room to make eye contact with Shouto. Shouto’s eyes were just as wide as his. As the shouting continued, Shouto continued to shrink into himself.

“It wasn’t important to me,” Aizawa snapped. “In case you haven’t noticed, we’ve had a lot going on, Hizashi.”

Hitoshi didn’t like the way Aizawa said Mic’s name. Hitoshi swallowed around a hard lump in his throat. He didn’t like the tense atmosphere that suddenly clouded the house. He set his comic to the side and eased himself off the couch as silently as possible. Shouto did the same, stepping onto the carpet, using the arms on the armchair as leverage to not make a sound.

Hitoshi had learned the hard way that when adults start yelling, you need to get out of sight. It doesn’t matter if they aren’t mad at you when the yelling starts. If they’re yelling, and they see you, they’ll be angry with you anyway. No matter what you are or aren’t doing, they’ll find something. Then, suddenly they won't be mad at each other anymore. They’ll be mad at you.

But that thought made Hitoshi hesitate. Maybe it would be good for them to be mad at him. If they were yelling at him, they wouldn’t be yelling at each other.

And Hitoshi trusted them. They wouldn’t hit him too hard. He began to creep towards the kitchen.

Shouto’s eyes widened further, realizing what Hitoshi was about to do. He shook his head violently. Hitoshi gave him a thin lipped smile and dipped his head towards the direction of the bedrooms. Shouto closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Then he flinched at the sound of a cupboard slamming.

“We should be looking for reasons to celebrate, then!” Hizashi cried. “We’ve both been stressed out beyond belief for months. What about the kids?”

“What about the kids, Hizashi.” Aizawa bit out every word like he was gnawing on them.

“What kind of example are we setting?”

“You mean, what kind of example am I setting.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth!”

Shouto clenched his fists and crept towards Hitoshi where he was just out of sight from the kitchen door. They locked eyes. Together? Shouto’s eyes seemed to say.

Hitoshi ignored the way his hands were shaking, and nodded.

Shouto slipped his hand into Hitoshi’s. Shouto’s hands were shaking too.

When Aizawa and Mic noticed them, their heads snapped to the door.

♡ღ‿ღ♡ ʕ•̫͡•ʕ*̫͡*ʕ•͓͡•ʔ-̫͡-ʕ•̫͡•ʔ*̫͡*ʔ-̫͡-ʔ ♡ღ‿ღ♡

Hizashi wanted to throw up.

Shouto and Hitoshi looked terrified. Hitoshi looked close to tears, and Shouto was as pale as a ghost.

They were both trembling with their shoulders squared and jaws set. Like they were about to face some horrible monster.

And they were looking at him.

Hizashi glanced over at Shouta. Shouta didn’t seem to be breathing, all irritation had drained completely out of sight. He hadn’t been thinking about what their “argument” looked like. To them, arguing was like sparring. It was just something they did without really caring who “won” or “lost.” Or, well, it wasn’t like sparring, because there was a point to sparring. There wasn’t really a point to their arguments. Hizashi was just complaining that Shouta had forgotten his birthday for the twenty-second year in a row. Honestly, the streak had probably been going on for even longer, but twenty-two years - come spring - was how long Hizashi had been around to notice. Shouta was annoyed, but no more so than he had been for the years past. Hizashi had already anticipated how the argument would go. Hizashi would nag, Shouta would deflect, then they’d all go out for cake and ice cream.

It was their normal.

He’d forgotten what the kids considered to be normal.

He didn’t know how to fix this. When he took a step forward, wanting to hold them, reassure them–

–Hitoshi flinched.

Actual bile rose in the back of Hizashi’s throat. “Hey, sweetheart,” Hizashi cooed, softening his voice as far as it would go, to the point where it was shaking, just slightly. “Can you believe this guy? Forgetting his own birthday.” He’d meant it as a joke, but Hitoshi tensed further, looking from him to Shouta wordlessly.

Footsteps behind him meant Shouta was approaching slowly. Hizashi felt a warm hand placed on his back, and he wrapped his own arm around Shouta, trying to show them that they weren’t actually mad, they’d just been teasing each other. Shouto seemed to deflate so fast that he swayed a bit. Hitoshi narrowed his eyes at Hizashi.

Hizashi wasn’t sure why that look was leveled at him and not Shouta.

Before he realized he was the one to raise his voice first.

“I didn’t forget,” Shouta drawled. “I just didn’t care.”

Before Hizashi could stop himself he cried out dramatically “That’s worse!” Then he choked, because he’d done it again. And both boys had taken a step back. An action that seemed to be ingrained, instinctive. “Hey,” Hizashi gave up trying to pretend like nothing was wrong, and addressed the kids directly. “Hey, babies, we’re not mad. I swear. I promise. I’m just teasing him, and he’s messing with me right back. We do this every year.”

“Don’t mind him,” Shouta, the traitor, told them. “He’s just being mean to me.”

“You do it, too!” Hizashi spluttered. But then Shouta crooked a grin at him, and he had to roll his eyes. But when he looked back at the kids, Hitoshi had taken a tiny step towards Shouta. Hizashi tried not to wilt.

But he also tried not to take it personally. Legally, Shouta was their guardian…Hizashi was just the loud roommate.

(He just usually tried not to think about that. He loved all three boys like his own. He adored them just as much as he worshiped Shouta. He held all of them so tightly to his heart that it left a permanent mark that he wore proudly.

But then things like this happen and he’ll remember that he’s not actually a part of this family. He just lives there.)

“Well,” Shouta broke the silence. “I suppose we have no choice,” he said as though doing something against his will. “Let's go out to eat tonight. I shouldn’t have to cook on my birthday, and I don’t trust you with the oven anymore.”

“That’s–!” Hizashi almost protested, but then he checked himself. No yelling. No yelling. Not in front of the kids. Not even in fun. “That’s fair.”

♡ღ‿ღ♡ ʕ•̫͡•ʕ*̫͡*ʕ•͓͡•ʔ-̫͡-ʕ•̫͡•ʔ*̫͡*ʔ-̫͡-ʔ ♡ღ‿ღ♡

One

The two dumbasses were acting weird.

Not the old ones, to be clear. No, his dumbass brothers. They’d gone out to some fancy restaurant for Dadzawa’s birthday, and the weirdest thing his parents did was casting odd looks in Shitstain and Halfy’s direction.

Because they were acting weird.

Halfy, never the most talkative, didn’t say a word all evening. Only nodding when spoken to and staring at them all with the blankest expression Katsuki had ever seen in this lifetime. Shitstain, for his part, seemed to be avoiding Papa Mic.

And he had no idea what had gotten into the two of them.

Especially when Shitstain had hesitated when Papa asked if he wanted to get tucked in. He’d said yes, but there had been a noticeable pause. Katsuki had noted the way Mic seemed to be forcing himself to act like nothing was wrong.

That night, his door creaked open. Katsuki sat up, pushing away the sheets and blankets that Dad and Papa had all but trapped him in. “Dad?”

“No, Kacchan, it’s us.”

Shitstain. “Us?” Katsuki frowned. “The fuck you two want?” The door opened further, revealing both Shitstain and Halfy standing there barefoot in their pajamas.

“Can we talk?” Shitstain asked. Katsuki held back a grimace. Why the fuck did he sound… scared?

“Get the fuck in here before you wake the old people up.”

And then, to Katsuki’s surprise, the two other boys burst into action. Acting like their asses were on fire while still being quiet. They launched themselves onto the bed on either side of him. Katsuki tried not to wince at how cold Halfy’s side was when he attached himself to him. If Katsuki wasn’t so used to fucking Deku, he might have shook him off. As it was, he just leaned back, and patted the vacant side Halfy wasn’t on, looking pointedly at Shitstain who was perched on the edge of the mattress.

Some shuffling later, and all three of them were squished on Katsuki’s not-large-enough-for-this-bullshit bed, side by side under the covers.

Katsuki definitely hated this, and wasn’t at all nostalgic for the sleepovers at the old house.

“The fuck you two monkeys want?”

“Can we be serious for a moment, Kacchan?”

“I’m always fucking serious, Shitstain.”

“Please?”

Katsuki sneered and turned to look at him. Hitoshi was staring directly at him with wet eyes.

He looked like he’d been crying.

Katsuki took him in for a moment, then nodded. “What’s wrong, Hitoshi?”

Hitoshi curled up closer to him. “Has Yamada ever hit Dad?”

Katsuki jolted. “The hell?” He almost sat up, but the weight of two bodies pressing into him held him down. “The fuck would you say that for?” There was silence for a moment. When Hitoshi didn’t answer, Katsuki tried to prompt, “Did something happen?”

“Not really,” came the instant reply.

“That’s a lie,” Katsuki mused. “Shouto, what happened?”

“They were fighting.”

Katsuki turned his head to look at Halfy. Halfy had his eyes closed, looking for all appearances to be falling asleep. Katsuki wedged an arm under Halfy’s neck and drew him in closer. He’d noticed the tension lining Halfy’s spine. At the contact, Shouto started to relax. “What were they fighting about?”

“Dad forgot about his birthday, and Yamada was upset.”

“Papa was upset,” Katsuki corrected. “What gives, Hitoshi?”

“...he sounded really mad.”

“He gets like that.” Hitoshi winds up like a clock spring. “Not like that. He never means it. They were messing with each other. They both think it's funny. If Dad minded, he would have said so, and Papa would have stopped.”

“It isn’t funny,” Hitoshi whispered. “It’s horrible.”

Katsuki rested his head against Hitoshi’s, leaving his arm under Shouto, feeling a bit like he was playing Twister. “Next time, just tell ‘em to knock it off.”

“I don’t want them to yell at me.”

“They wouldn’t.”

“But what if they do?”

“Then I’d kick their asses,” Katsuki snorted. “But they wouldn’t, so I’ll never have to.”

“But what if they do?”

Katsuki clenched his teeth. “They wouldn’t. I promise.” He was silent for a moment. It was clear Hitoshi didn’t believe him. “Listen, dumbass. You’re my shitstain of a little brother, and I’d fucking fight for you, okay? I’d fight god for you.”

“You’d fight god for a candy bar. And you don’t even like chocolate.”

“You bet your ass,” Katsuki retorted. “So why wouldn’t I fight for you?”

“...promise?”

“Swear.”

Hitoshi inched closer, hand fisting in the blankets. Katsuki let himself relax, even though he knew it wasn’t completely over.

“Why did Dad sensei forget?” Shouto broke the silence.

“He didn’t forget. He thinks it’s funny.”

“But what about other dates?”

Katuski was quiet for a moment. “...those, he sometimes does forget. Not on purpose though. And not to be mean.”

“Does… Papa sensei get mad about it?”

Katsuki hesitated, but then admitted “Not mad. Upset, just a little. Not mad though. I don’t think they’ve ever really been mad at each other.”

“We should always remind him then,” Shouto concluded. “Then they won’t yell.”

Katsuki snorted. “Good idea, Thermostat.”

Shouto opened his eyes. “Are you being sarcastic?”

Katsuki sighed. “Yes, but I’m serious, too. Go ahead and do that. I’m sure it’ll help.”

Shouto nodded. “When is their anniversary?”

Katsuki opened his mouth, then he closed it. “I don’t know?” he said. “I mean… he just kind’a showed up one day, and they already seemed like… a thing. I thought it was just best friend shit, but then they started sharing a bed. And Papa calls him ‘babe’ and stuff, and Dad would probably beat anyone else’s ass if they pulled that with him.” He scrunches his nose. “And I’ve walked in on them kissing a few times.”

“Well obviously they’re together now,” Hitoshi drawled. If you only heard him, he’d sound perfectly normal, if not for the way he was curled into Katsuki’s side as tense as a bow string. “So you’re saying they got together before they adopted you?”

“Probably?”

“When do they usually celebrate it?”

Katsuki thought about it for a moment. “I don’t think… I’ve ever seen them do anything for it.” He whispers. “Maybe they don’t care?”

“But Papa cared so much about today.”

Katsuki thought about it. “Midnight would know,” he said after a few minutes. “We’ll ask her. She’s still groveling at the moment, so she’ll tell us if I’m the one to ask.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Hitoshi whispered. “Let’s ask her tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow.”

♡ღ‿ღ♡ ʕ•̫͡•ʕ*̫͡*ʕ•͓͡•ʔ-̫͡-ʕ•̫͡•ʔ*̫͡*ʔ-̫͡-ʔ ♡ღ‿ღ♡

Nemuri was surprised when her three nephews showed up at her doorstep one morning. She’d been getting ready to go on patrol. She was still on a probationary period, so she was briefly worried about being late. But then she steeled herself. Katsuki didn’t like her. She knew that. If he was here, it was something important.

They’d been getting along better, for sure. But he didn’t like being alone with her. He’d always leave the room as soon as he realized it was just the two of them. And he didn’t speak with her more than he needed to, and sometimes not even that much. Even still, he’d stopped sneering at her. Last time she’d gone to Shouta and Hizashi’s palace for dinner, he’d even given her an acknowledging nod.

“Hey, kiddies,” she smiled, though she was uncomfortably aware of how close she was to being late. “What can ol’ Aunty Nemuri do for you?”

“When is our parent’s anniversary?” Katsuki was the one to address her. Shouto had that wide-eyed gaze that bore into her soul. And Hitoshi was staring at the ground. Nemuri paused for a moment.

Anniversary? Unless they’d been lying about being married, then they didn’t have one. Unless they were talking about the anniversary of when they started dating, but Nemuri knew neither of them were the type of person to make note of a date like that. So, that left the day they met. Well. Officially met. She’d been told the whole sordid story before. Multiple times.

“January fifth,” she said. “Why?”

“Surprise,” Katsuki narrowed his eyes at her. “So don’t tell ‘em we asked.”

Nemuri raised her hands up in surrender. “I wasn’t even thinking about it. Let me know if you want any help.”

“Hold ya to that.”

♡ღ‿ღ♡ ʕ•̫͡•ʕ*̫͡*ʕ•͓͡•ʔ-̫͡-ʕ•̫͡•ʔ*̫͡*ʔ-̫͡-ʔ ♡ღ‿ღ♡

Two

“You guys are being quiet,” Deku noted the next day at school. “Did something happen?”

“Private,” Katsuki told him. “I’ll tell ya later.”

Deku accepted this with a nod and took a seat at his desk. Kaminari looked over at him. “Ooooh is it a secret? Can you tell me, too?”

Katsuki was about to tell him to go fuck himself, but Hitoshi spoke up. “Actually,” he said, surprising Katsuki. “We could use some help.”

Like a magic word was spoken, all of their classmates straightened up and focused on Hitoshi, throwing him a little off balance at the sudden attention.

“Of course, we’ll help,” Yaoyorozu told him with a gentle smile.

“So long as it is within our power!” Iida agreed. Then looked panicked and added “And it is not illegal.”

“Chill out Robo,” Katsuki grunted. “Ain’t that serious.”

“Just need to know if any of you have noticed Dad or Papa gravitating towards any specific dessert.”

“Awwwww,” Hagakure cooed. “Are you guys planning a date night for your parents?”

“Something like that,” Hitoshi allowed.

“We’re preparing for their anniversary,” Shouto added, making several heads swivel towards where he was seated at the back of the classroom. “It’s next month, so we don’t have long to prepare.”

“You have all of Christmas break!” Mina assured him. “That’s plenty of time! And we’ll all help!”

“Wouldn’t Bakubro know, though?” Kirishima asked.

Katsuki shrunk down in his seat. “Those fuckwads will eat anything I make them. They’re too biased.”

There was silence for a moment. “The implications of that are adorable,” Jiro announced. “I approve.”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP EARJAX!”

Of course, just then the door opened. “Settle down,” Dad told them all wearily. “You should have been using this time to study.

“Dad sensei!” Kaminari raised his hands. “Can you settle a debate for us?”

Dad looked suspicious. “What debate?”

“Chocolate or vanilla!”

Dad snorted. “Chocolate,” he answered promptly. “Any other dumb questions?”

“Strawberry or cherry!” That one was Mina.

“Cherry.”

“Whipped cream or frosting?” Katsuki and Aizawa made the same confused expression as they looked at Sato, who had a notebook out and was writing something.

“...I honestly don’t care?”

Sato nodded.

“You guys are all idiots,” Jiro told them. “Sensei, they’re trying to figure out what your favorite dessert is, because Kaminari is trying to get you to admit you don’t like sweets.”

“Hey! Don’t throw me under the bus!”

Aizawa sighed. “Coffee cake, if it’s so important to you. But, unfortunately, Kaminari is correct, I don’t like anything being too sweet.” Then he turned around to write out the day’s agenda on the black board.

Behind his back, Jiro tossed Katsuki a wink.

Katsuki scowled at her.

♡ღ‿ღ♡ ʕ•̫͡•ʕ*̫͡*ʕ•͓͡•ʔ-̫͡-ʕ•̫͡•ʔ*̫͡*ʔ-̫͡-ʔ ♡ღ‿ღ♡

“Mic sensei, if you could only have one dessert for the rest of your life, what would it be?”

“Sherbet!”

“Real subtle, Ears.”

♡ღ‿ღ♡ ʕ•̫͡•ʕ*̫͡*ʕ•͓͡•ʔ-̫͡-ʕ•̫͡•ʔ*̫͡*ʔ-̫͡-ʔ ♡ღ‿ღ♡

Three

They were running out of time. There were only two weeks left of the school year, and then they would all be off for Christmas. Once that happened, the old people would be too deep in their business for there to be any hope of planning for the surprise. For now, though, Dad was busy with grading and Papa was at the radio station, leaving them to go “holiday shopping” with their “friends.”

“Why did you put quotation marks around that?” Kirishima asked Katsuki when he was explaining to the class why he’d summoned them all to the mall. Not everyone could make it, of course, but Shouto was pleased with the number that did come. “Are… are we not actually friends?”

Katsuki squinted at him. “The fuck? I thought we were dating?”

Shouto watched in astonishment as Kirishima’s face turned the same shade as his hair. He hadn’t realized the other boy’s quirk could do that. Interesting. Then he turned to Uraraka who had just arrived with Asui. “Hello,” he greeted them. “We’re looking for decorations for our parent’s anniversary, but according to my brother, we have ‘shit taste’ and he ‘doesn’t want to be solely responsible’ for the ‘shitstorm that’s going to happen.’” Shouto repeated back what Katsuki had told him that morning, and then realized he probably should have done what Katsuki did and made the air bunnies that indicated when he was quoting someone else.

Luckily, Uraraka was very intelligent, and seemed to understand anyway, because she only laughed instead of getting offended. “That sounds like fun!” she squealed. “What’s the budget?”

Shouto frowned, then reached into his pocket to count out the bills he had. Behind him, Hitoshi did the same. “I’ve got like seventy bucks,” Katsuki told them. “And some change.”

“Um, fourty-seven.”

“Two hundred thousand and thirty-four.”

Several pairs of eyes swung around to look at him. Shouto blinked. Oh, he should probably explain himself. “Endeavor never asked for his debit card back.” He told them all. “I’ve been making small withdrawals whenever I feel sad. It usually cheers me up.”

“...have you not been spending any of it?” Kaminari asked, bewildered. Shouto wasn’t entirely sure why he was making the expression that he was.

“What would I spend it on?” he asked the other boy, genuinely curious. “I don’t need to buy myself food, anymore. And Dad gave me a full closet of clothes when we moved to the new house. And in my room, I even have toys. I’ve never had toys before, and I’m not entirely sure how to use the ones I already have, so I shouldn’t get anymore. It would be wasteful.”

“Dude…” Shouto turned to look at Kirishima. Then he took a cautious step back, because the other boy had tears in his eyes. “Can… can I give you a hug?”

Shouto didn’t know why Kirishima was crying. Maybe he really needed a hug. “I like hugs,” Shouto told him, extending his arms and in the next moment receiving an armful of friendship. He liked having friends.

Tokoyami cleared his throat, Shouto looked at him over Kirishima’s head. “The darkness receding often reveals crevices once hidden. It’s not enough that the light has revealed them. One must ensure they are also filled, that one might not fall back in.”

Shouto looked around for the crevices. He was surprised that there were any inside the mall. “Where?” He asked Tokoyami, concerned. He would hate for one of his friends to fall into something. Though, of course, he’d help them out.

Tokoyami faltered. Hitoshi placed a hand on his arm. “Fumi means that you should buy yourself something stupid that you don’t need.”

“Oh,” Shouto released Kirishima who was still crying. He patted the boy on the shoulder. “What should I buy?”

“The first thing that looks interesting!” Sero told him.

“Something that makes you laugh, kero.”

“Something that will make your Dad do this,” Ashido adopted a face like she was having digestive issues and then exhaled very deeply. Shouto had seen Dad make that face before. It was usually directed at Hitoshi or Papa.

“Or something to eat?” Sato suggested. “Something like candy. Even if you don’t need food, it’s nice to have something junky to snack on when you get munchie. Just for fun.”

Shouto nodded. “I like instant soba.”

Katsuki sighed. “Of course you do.”

They went off into the store in one giant herd. Shouto thought they were perhaps being a bit obtrusive, but he liked being a part of the group too much to care overly so. They went into a merchandise store for heroes. Shouto paused as they walked past the Endeavor section. He picked up a figurine. There was a warning on it “Keep out of reach of small children.”

Shouto had a thought that it might be funny, but he wasn’t sure how to connect the thought into a joke.

“Bro?” Sero had stopped next to him. “Um. You okay?”

“I would like to buy this,” he said. Then he looked at the rest of the merchandise. “All of this.”

He got some odd looks. “Why?” Hitoshi asked, baffled.

Shouto looked down at the figure in his hands. “Papa likes smores. And we have a firepit. I thought this would be funnier than getting wood.” Shouto paused, then looked at his friends. “Am I… wrong?”

There were several beats of silence, and Shouto started getting a familiar sinking feeling in his stomach, when suddenly Kaminari started to laugh hysterically. “Bro! That’s the best idea.”

“No!” Uraraka said, eyes wide. “You can’t eat food cooked over plastic!”

“Oh,” Shouto drooped. Then he looked back at the merchandise section. “What about books?” There was a selection of comic books.

Kirishima looked considering. “My grandpa uses old newspaper to start his fires when we go camping,” he offered.

“Could get some shirts, too,” Ashido beamed.

Shouto nodded, feeling better about this idea now that his friends were on board. He grabbed an armful and strode towards the cashier. She looked at him with wide eyes. He realized, suddenly, that she’d probably heard the whole thing.

“My friends don’t think it’s weird,” he frowned at her. She blinked, then slowly started to check out his selection.

♡ღ‿ღ♡ ʕ•̫͡•ʕ*̫͡*ʕ•͓͡•ʔ-̫͡-ʕ•̫͡•ʔ*̫͡*ʔ-̫͡-ʔ ♡ღ‿ღ♡

They did end up getting decorations as well. Streamers to hang from the ceiling in black and yellow. Little bumble bees with musical notes trailing behind them to put on the walls. Cat table decor and paperware to eat on. A set of matching coffee cups with a cat wearing headphones. Throw pillows with each of Erasermic’s faces on them. And other assorted “bullshit” (according to Katsuki) that vaguely fit into Dad and Papa Mic’s themes.

(He wasn’t entirely sure about the bees, but he did think they were cute.)

After all was said and done, everyone was carrying at least one bag.

“Where will we store this?” Shouto asked no one in particular.

He was answered by silence.

“Fuck,” Katsuki said emphatically. “Dad cleans my room, so it can’t be there.”

“Why does your Dad clean your room?” Kaminari asked him.

“...he just does?”

“Bro. Why do you literally have the best parents?” he wailed. “My mom just yells at me.”

Shouto’s heart hurt for Kaminari. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he told is friend. Kaminari turned towards Shouto with a confused expression on his face, which in turn made Shouto confused.

“Um. It’s okay?” he said, sounding unsure.

“I have room, kero,” Asui told them. “I can keep them in my basement, kero. My siblings are scared of the dark, so they won’t go down there and get into anything.”

“And when it’s time to make the cake,” Sato said. “Come on over to my house. I have the perfect recipe. Not too sweet, but not too bitter either.”

Shouto felt very warm because of the support of his friends. “That sounds perfect,” he told them. “I was concerned about doing all of this, but with your help, I no longer have any reservations.”

He was answered by all of his friends quickly assuring him that he’d always be able to count on them.

But he already knew that.

♡ღ‿ღ♡ ʕ•̫͡•ʕ*̫͡*ʕ•͓͡•ʔ-̫͡-ʕ•̫͡•ʔ*̫͡*ʔ-̫͡-ʔ ♡ღ‿ღ♡

Four

It was after the final day of classes before Christmas break, and most of the other students had gone home. Hitoshi and his two brothers (he’ll never get over the novelty of being able to say that) were sitting in the teacher’s lounge waiting for Dad to get finished breaking down the classroom and tell them it was time to go. The lounge was empty except for them.

“I looked at the academic calendar,” Shouto was saying. “And we might have an issue.”

“What issue, Halfy?” Kacchan grunted.

“The first day of school is on the fifth.”

Hitoshi swore. “Damn it. And everything else was going so well, too.”

“We could always make them miss it,” Kacchan said, a smirk growing across his face. Shouto looked intrigued.

“How?” he asked.

Katsuki grinned at him, fully feral, all teeth. “A little bit of a broken leg never hurt anyone.”

Shouto got his usual blank expression that meant he was supremely confused. “That is… untrue. That is very much untrue.”

“Spoil sport.”

Hitoshi grinned. “We could get them sick?” he said. “Stand outside in the snow, catch just a little cold, then wipe our snot all over their stuff.”

Katsuki barked a laugh. Shouto looked concerned. “I’d…rather not. That sounds very unhygienic.”

“Well now you’re just stifling our creativity.”

“I may have a solution!”

All three of them jumped in surprise, twisting around on the couch to see what was perched behind them. Standing on the back of the couch behind their heads was the small mouse, bear, hamster thing that was Principal Nedzu.

“We weren’t being serious,” Hitoshi blurted out.

Nedzu chuckled. “Of that, I am perfectly aware. However, I am being completely serious.” Nedzu seemed very pleased with himself. “I’ll simply give them the day off!”

Katsuki raised an eyebrow. “Give two teachers the first day of school… off.”

“Yes!”

“Why not just move the school year one day over?” Hitoshi questioned.

Nedzu looked at him with what was probably meant to be a confused expression, but it wasn’t expressed well on his furry face. “Why would I do that?”

♡ღ‿ღ♡ ʕ•̫͡•ʕ*̫͡*ʕ•͓͡•ʔ-̫͡-ʕ•̫͡•ʔ*̫͡*ʔ-̫͡-ʔ ♡ღ‿ღ♡

Plus One

Hizashi was feeling refreshed after Christmas. As every year, he’d spent most of the evening of with Tensei and Nemuri, though… rather than having a party, they’d spent the entire day going from jewelry store to jewelry store. He’d planned on asking that very night, but then, when he’d gotten home, he’d found out that Hitoshi had waited up for him.

“You haven’t tucked me in yet,” was his excuse, ears poking out red from his crazy hair. Hizashi’s heart melted, and he couldn’t overshadow this important moment with something else.

It was, after all, the first time Hitoshi had approached him for comfort since… Shouta’s birthday. Hizashi had felt like crying, but he’d only smiled and said “Anything for one of my favorite listeners.”

Hitoshi had gotten an impish smile on his face that Hizashi had desperately missed seeing. “Which favorite? Your most favorite? Your second favorite?”

Hizashi had pulled him into a tight hug and pressed a firm kiss to the side of his head. “I love all of you so much, I don’t think any number would do it justice.”

There was a moment of silence as Hizashi just held his kid. Then “That sounds like an excuse to me.”

Hizashi barked a laugh. “You’re so Shouta’s child.” Hitoshi had beamed at him, and then allowed himself to be led to bed.

Now, it’s the week before the first day of the second semester during his babies’ first year at UA and he still hasn’t popped the question. And, well, he can’t help but feel like the moment has passed. They’re all about to be really busy, and it’s only right that this next week is about the boys. Hizashi really wanted to plan something special to mark the occasion, you only have first days back to school so many times, but when he tries to call Nedzu to ask permission to throw a party for the second year hero department, Nedzu cheerfully informs him that of course he can, but not on the first day. He has that day off.

“What?” Hizashi asked, confused. “But…but I have classes?”

“No you don’t!” said the principal, cheerfully. “The first day of classes will be eaten up by orientation, I’m afraid.”

“Orientation? For the second semester? For every grade?”

“That’s correct!”

Hizashi took the phone away from his ear just to look at the screen for a second and double check he’d called the correct rodent. “Um. Why?”

“Because those are the rules!”

Hizashi blinked. “They aren’t though?”

“They are now! And I’ve much to prepare! See you and Shouta on the sixth!” Click.

Hizashi stared into the void. “What just happened?” he asked outloud.

“Hizashi?” Hizashi turned to see Shouta emerging from his study, hair tied back in a bun in the way that made Hizashi swoon internally. And externally. Shouta rolled his eyes at Hizashi’s dramatics, then gestured to the phone. “Was that the principal? What did he say?”

“That… I have the fifth off?” He said, uncertain even though he’d just gotten off the phone. “And… I think he implied that you did, too?”

Aizawa frowns. “He said something like that to me yesterday, but I thought he was just being… foreboding. I didn’t think he meant it literally.” He frowned deeper. “I think it might be Tensei’s fault.”

Hizashi raised an eyebrow. “And, you think that, why?”

“He keeps saying he’s too busy to hang out. And also Nemuri keeps winking at me.”

Hizashi hummed. “Yagi has been weird too, come to think of it. I passed him in the street yesterday. He’d flat out run in the opposite direction. You think they’re up to something?”

“Or they’re hiding something from us.”

♡ღ‿ღ♡ ʕ•̫͡•ʕ*̫͡*ʕ•͓͡•ʔ-̫͡-ʕ•̫͡•ʔ*̫͡*ʔ-̫͡-ʔ ♡ღ‿ღ♡

Hizashi wakes up in bed with Shouta on what should have been the first day of school. Since, however, it is apparently not the first day of school, he just allowed himself to luxuriate in the knowledge that he managed to sneak his way into the bed of the prettiest man alive.

Take that, fifteen-year-old Hizashi!

Hizashi ran his fingers through Shouta’s hair. Shouta was laying with his head on Hizashi’s chest, as had become his habit since the incident at USJ. Hizashi was happy to just watch him sleep for a few minutes, when his fingers brushed against something soft that wasn’t hair. Hizashi frowned at brought it closer to his face, being near-sighted without his glasses on.

A petal. A black rose petal. Hizashi fumbles for the side table, trying not to wake up Shouta, and grabs his glasses. Sliding them onto his face, he gently lowers Shouta onto the mattress. But, it’s no use. As soon as he did so, Shouta groaned loudly and whacked him with a pillow.

Sending a flurry of black and yellow petals flying into the air.

“What the fuck?”

“I don’t know,” answered Hizashi. “But look.”

There were black and yellow petals scattered everywhere. Across their bed. On the floor. On their dresser. There were whole flowers as well sitting in what looked like a hand-made vase with Hizashi and Shouta’s faces clumsily painted on the clay. There were streamers covered in bees hanging from the ceiling, and the pillow he’d been whacked with had his own face on it, made from sequins.

“What the fuck?” asked Shouta again, fully sitting up. “What happened.”

The door to their bedroom opened. In walked all three boys, dressed in their UA uniforms. Kacchan was holding a tray of… what he assumed to be “breakfast.” That is, if breakfast was made solely from coffee, an entire mountain of bacon, a single beautifully arranged bowl of sherbert with toppings, and an entire coffee cake. Shouto was holding a handmade card the size of their TV. Hitoshi, for his part, was holding more flowers. These ones, however, were an eclectic mix of colors inexpertly arranged. Hitoshi noticed him looking.

“Picked fresh this morning!” he said proudly. Ah that explained it. “From Endeavor’s garden.” That raised more questions that Hizashi was happy to let go unexplained.

Kacchan proudly placed the tray of “breakfast” across their laps and looked at them expectantly. “Um.” Hizashi cautiously picked up a piece of bacon as Shouta grabbed a mug of coffee (which had a cute cat on it) and downed it like a shot of tequila.

Shouto handed Hizashi the card, which he had to drop the bacon to accept. It was adorable, with hearts and music notes and cats drawn all over it… and glitter practically pouring off of it. That was going to be fun to clean. “Awww,” Hizashi tried to cover his wince. “It’s so pretty.”

“Open it,” Shouto urged. Hizashi obliged, and saw that it had been signed by all of class 1A. And 1B. And every teacher at UA. And the principal. And Mrs. Midoriya. And also Tensei and Nemuri. What the fuck? What was going on?

“Ok bye,” said Kacchan, and all three of them started shuffling out.

“Wha- where are you going?”

Kacchan looked at him like he thought he was stupid. Which. Ouch. “School? It starts in an hour? We have orientation, fuckwad.”

Oh. Right. “Um. Have fun?” The three boys gave him a solemn nod, and then marched out. Hizashi stayed frozen in bed until he heard the front door slam shut, announcing that the three of them had left.

“That just happened,” Hizashi sighed. Shouta grunted, then slid out of bed clutching his mug, ignoring the mounds of random foodstuff they’d been handed.

“I need more coffee.” Was all Shouta had to say.

But then they emerged into the living room, where there were even more flowers. Just. Everywhere.

And a handmade banner with little handprints all over it, as well as Yaoyorozu’s distinctive and beautiful handwriting spelling out “Happy Twenty-Two Years.”

“...did I forget our anniversary?”

“We aren’t married. We don’t have an anniversary.”

Hizashi blinks. A smile started spreading across his face. Well. He’d been waiting for the right moment. Hizashi can take a sign. “ Hold that thought.”

He returns holding something behind his back. Then he drops to one knee, looking up at Shouta’s very unimpressed face as he sipped his third cup of coffee. “So, apparently it’s been twenty-two years,” he laughed nervously. “And I’ve spent each one desperately in love with you. I let myself be a coward for twenty of them, and I won’t hold myself back anymore. That said,” He held out the box with bated breath and opened the top. In it was a pair of rings that he’d been holding onto since Christmas. “I’d like to marry you, Shouta. I have for a while. Since we were kids, actually.”

Aizawa stares at him for a long moment. Downs the last of his coffee. Plucks one of the rings out of the box, then walks back to the bedroom. “I’m going back to bed. If I find out it was you who planned this, we’re getting a divorce.”

Hizashi blinked into the empty room.

“...WAS THAT A YES???”

[deathsmallcaps]

(USA based sorry)

I’m definitely speaking into an echo chamber but like.

Nearly every algebra student I tutor ends up with a word problem involving the gender wage gap. And they’re all confounded by it and have no clue.

And a guy in my fucking Calc 3 class was like “wait you guys were serious? That’s real?” When it came up. BRO YOU’RE ABOUT OLD ENOUGH TO DRINK???

It’s amazing what is and isn’t common knowledge. Feminist history isn’t taught past “and then women got their right to vote :)))))).” With occasional mentions of Title IX and the late 1900s waves of feminism. Of course only in in-depth history classes, not general Ed. Wow.

I am not in training to be a historian or a history teacher, but by all that is right in the world I hope it becomes more normalized and common to speak about shit that is LESS than 100 years ago in depth when it comes to American History & culture. Wtf. I swear even when I took AP history* the professor was afraid to touch on that stuff. For some reason (happily) my English teachers were a lot more willing to teach about modern history & minority stories.

And this is just what affects my white anglo cishetallo abled-passing housed female life personally. I cannot truly imagine the feeling of personal erasure & irritation one of comes to other identities & issues that have only relatively recently been resolved, addressed, acknowledged or even only pointedly ignored. I am fucking angry FOR you and can’t wait for things to change. You ALL deserve better. Don’t forget that.

It’s not your job to educate these people or their children (unless you’re literally a history teacher or something) but I want to shake the people who decide these what gets taught until the cowardice & insecurity & thoughtlessness & malice & election-based anxiety shits out of their assholes and leaves their hearts hungering for intelligent, thoughtful & interested discussions on modern issues and genuine history that should not be squeezed into the last pages of textbooks out of fear of offending paper white & paper thin pride.

Human rights deserve attention. Human rights should not have to be a radical talking point. It should be both as natural and expected as breathing clean air & as ingrained and knowable as to be accessible in math problems.

There is so much to be done. And it is exhausting. But please know that you are not alone.

*interesting tidbit below but basically irrelevant to the above post

I took AP america history to learn about the parts of American history that are never, or barely, covered in history classes throughout the grades. Basically, if it happened outside of the Puritans-WWII, it’s got a poor chance chance of in-depth coverage. And while the class did teach me good analysis skills and some interesting facts, it mostly covered the exact fucking periods I mentioned above.

And you know what? Literally right before we took the AP test, our teacher told us “study up on periods 2-7” (im pretty sure there are 9 periods of American history, forgive me it’s been like 5 years) “they never test on 1, 8 or 9”. Guess what the essay questions were on. And guess what time periods 1,8 & 9 are? If you posited precolonial america, the mid 1900s and modern day, ding ding ding you’re the winner! :))))))

(AP classes are worth it if you’re bored and/or trying to cut down on the amount of classes you’ll take in college & thus save money. But a lot (not all) of the AP certified teachers will try to convince you it’s the be all, end all of learning in high school. Also the weighted GPAs are a scam. No one looks at those. If you’re worried about keeping a good average, stick to the class level that fits within both circles of ‘not boring’ and ‘not going to wreck your life’. You can take an AP test and have it count and not take the class. Just be warned it is genuinely difficult.)

[interstellarlyinlove]

“Summer is ending,” Remus says– sighs, really, as soon as he notices Sirius. He’s leaning against the Astronomy Tower’s railing, looking soft and incredibly sad, sounding as if what he’s holding up on his shoulders would give Atlas himself a run for his money.

“Summer has already ended, technically. When was September 23rd? A couple of days ago, right?” Sirius says, standing next to Remus and kissing his cheek. Sirius’ idea of comfort is someone sitting next to him, caressing his hair and kissing him softly. He hopes Remus feels a little comfort from those things as well.

“I’m really shitty company today. I’m sorry, I’ll probably calm down by tomorrow, though, so–”

“Oh, stop it,” Sirius says, kissing Remus to shut him up. “You’re my favorite person in all the world, I’m always happy being with you. No matter what.”

“I am sorry, though. This sucks. So bad. I’m whining. I’m sorry about–”

“No more sorry. And no more whining. Think about something else.”

Remus smiles sadly. It doesn’t reach his eyes at all. He’s smiling for Sirius’ sake and it’s breaking his heart. “Like what?”

“Like your hot boyfriend.”

“I’m always thinking about my hot boyfriend. Even during existential crises. Always on my mind.”

“He’s that hot?”

Remus whistles. “Like you wouldn’t believe.”

Sirius grins. He softens his smile and asks, “What’s on your mind, darling?”

“You,” Remus says, and his smile is a little less sad. “Truly, always.”

Sirius realizes suddenly that Remus deserves everything. “You’re always on my mind, too. Like, all the time. Like, even when I’m dreaming, I swear. Last night, I dreamt that we were sitting in the Slytherin common room and there were like seventeen Slytherin cats and–”

“What makes a cat a Slytherin cat?”

“And– all cats are Slytherin cats, Remus, they’re all mean and evil– but it was fine, they were mostly around you, and it was pretty cute, even though they’re tiny death machines with fur.”

Remus actually laughs, then, and his hair is all messy from the end-of-summer wind, and he’s perfect, and kind, and Sirius wishes he had all the power in the world to make sure he’s never ever sad. “I am a cat person. Sounds about right.”

“The biggest heartbreak of my life,” Sirius says. “You liking cats is truly my cross to bear.” 

“I love you.”

“I love you, too, darling. I love you enough to not pester you about what’s bothering you and let you change the subject as much as you want.”

Remus laughs. “This is you not pestering?”

“Oh, you don’t want to see me when I’m pestering. This is me gently gently guiding.”

“It truly is nothing.” Sirius must have looked at Remus a certain way because he clarifies, “Or, not nothing, but also not one specific thing, you know? It’s like a thousand tiny little things that are making it a little hard for me to breathe? But also, truly not a big deal.”

“How could anything making you feel like that not be a big deal?” Sirius asks softly, rubbing Remus’ forearm. “Do you know what the normal amount of displeasure you should feel on any given day?”

“Like, a 6.5 out of 10, maybe?”

“Like, none, actually.”

“Yeah?”

Sirius nods. “Yes, my love. It’s supposed to be so much fucking easier than that.”

Remus laughs. “If you say so.”

“If I say so.”

They don’t say anything for a while, just looking ahead and breathing together. It’s so calm and serene and it would’ve been Sirius’ idea of a perfect evening spent if he didn't know how shitty Remus was feeling.

After a few more minutes, Remus rests his head on Sirius’ shoulder and starts talking. “It’s just that sometimes I feel like I have to do so much more to get where everyone already is. Or, doing so much to get so little. Acceptable grades aren’t okay because being a mediocre werewolf is not going to get you anywhere, and I have to always be kind and considerate and never get angry or annoyed or irritated because most days I can’t really believe that I even have friends to begin with, so all those emotions make me feel like an asshole because not being alone is all I’ve ever wanted, really, and when the people I love most and am so grateful for get on my nerves I feel like I’m throwing all that away or spitting in everyone’s face, and– It just sucks so bad. All I want, Sirius, is to feel normal. I’m mostly okay with being a werewolf, truly, and it’s not something that’s constantly on my mind usually but it’s been all I’ve been able to think about for a couple of weeks and– Sirius, it’s actually making it difficult to breathe or enjoy things or just fucking exist.” Remus lets out a shaky breath. “Or maybe It’s just not summer anymore and that’s fucking with me a little bit.”

It takes everything in Sirius not to interrupt Remus 75 different times because he knows how difficult it is to put what you’re feeling into words, and he feels like Remus really really needed to get that off his chest. Remus’ eyes are glassy and a few tears fall down when he blinks and Sirius wishes he could go back in time and be the one that was bitten that stupid night. He wants to rip out Greyback’s heart and throw it in the place designated for all the rotten things of the world. Sirius touches Remus’ face and wipes under his now shut eyes.

“I don’t think you realize how much everyone fucking adores you, my love– and no, stop, you don’t get to interrupt me, okay?” Remus smiles, then sobs, and Siirus keeps talking. “Really, Remus, and I’m not just saying that. Do you know Regulus once told me you were his first crush? Lily, also. Peter never said it aloud but come on. My boyfriend makes everyone blush, how lucky am I?” Sirius rolls his eyes jokingly. “And, Remus, you’re making it sound like you owe people something for being your friends, and I guess we all should hold a certain amount of gratitude in our hearts for our friends but that definitely goes both ways, my love. People aren’t your friends because they feel bad for you or whatever is going on in your pretty brain. They’re your friends because they want to be, and you are so fucking lovely, Remus, you are my favorite person in all of the universe, and losing your temper or being annoyed or not being able to stand me sometimes is so understandable. Our friends, too. Not fighting with someone when you’re close is impossible. Do you remember when James and I didn’t speak to each other for seven weeks in fourth year? I can’t even remember why we were fighting but I remember that I truly believed I hated him with everything I had. But also, even during the heat of it, I knew I could never really hate him even if I wanted nothing else. You’re allowed to be angry, Remus. You’re allowed to lose your temper and fight and– that’s not a werewolf thing. That’s an everybody-on-fucking-earth thing.”

“You think?” Remus asks, and he’s still crying, and Sirius is incredibly sure Remus really doesn’t believe most of what Sirius said but he doesn’t mind. He has the rest of his life to make him change his mind.

“I think,” Sirius says. He snaps his fingers and a bottle of Firewhiskey appears on the Astronomy Tower ridge. “Do you want to drink with me?”

“Where’d you get that?” Remus asks, snatching it and unscrewing the lid. 

Sirius kisses the edge of Remus’ mouth. He’s no longer crying. They’ll talk more about this, definitely, and Sirius has so much more to say, but later. “Don’t ask that if you don’t really want to know. Sad looks stupidly good on you.”

Remus laughs mid Firewhiskey gulp. He coughs, and smiles, and he’ll be okay.   

[discountdemonwarehouse]

Domestic December Day 28

Prompt - Outside Perspective

An outside perspective from one of Terzo's few "longer-term" girlfriends, Kasandra.

AO3 Link

Mostly SFW aside from some swearing and vague mentions of sex having happened.

This blurb is related to an incident mentioned on day 8 Ages → Terzo 22ish, Kasandra same age or very close to Terzo’s.

        Sister Kasandra glared at Terzo from the post-sex shower as she toweled off, hoping he could feel her eyes burning into his back. Their relationship was only a few months old, but that was far longer than most people Terzo had been involved with. Kasandra had been hopeful this meant she had found favour with the younger Emeritus son, and could possibly keep his attention. But as more time passed, she had come to realize there was one giant obstacle to her plan – Terzo’s best friend, Quinn. “Why do you keep her soap and shampoo here if she doesn’t shower here?” she snarled. “What does it matter if I use some?” “It’s Quinn’s, just don’t.” He paused for a moment, meeting her glare in the mirror. “You’ll smell like her if you do. There’s other products.” “How do you know what she smells like?!” “I just do. We spend time together,” Terzo shrugged. “You just notice these things.” Kas felt rage building in her again. “She climbs all over you in the halls of the Ministry You overindulge her – she tried to punch me over cereal, Terzo! Set some boundaries!” “You could have asked before you ate the cereal,” he said nonchalantly, grabbing a skincare bottle. “It’s just cereal! And why was she even here?!” “It was a Friday. You know I spend Fridays with her. She was waiting for me and wanted a snack. It’s normal.” “No, Terzo, it’s not.” Kas huffed angrily. “You let her do things a girlfriend would do.” “You’re being ridiculous,” he muttered, rinsing his face.

        She stepped out of the shower stall, wrapping herself in the towel. "You move hell and earth to make things happen for her, but if I want to go out on a friday night, you won't – because of HER. And you exclude me from whatever you two do!" Kas stormed out of the bathroom to find her habit. “She has clothes in your apartment. You have toiletries that are hers and you get angry if I use them. She has food in your cupboards that no one else is allowed to touch. You share food in the dining halls, you ask her for advice over anyone else... You're basically a married couple!" "We're just very close friends. She's like my little sister. I love her unconditionally." Kas rounded on Terzo, mouth agape in disbelief. They had never talked of love between them in any capacity after these months, and jealousy bubbled in her. “No, Terzo. It’s not at all like that – not to outsiders.” “Then they’re stupid.” He rolled his eyes in irritation, heading to his closet to get a clean shirt. “People are talking!” she shrieked at him. “People still think I’m just one of your dalliances! I am your girlfriend , but I get looks of pity when Quinn is around!” Kas stood there, chest heaving as she breathed deeply. Terzo had stilled in front of the closet. “Keep her name out of your mouth,” he uttered softly, his head turning slightly to look over his shoulder. “What?” “If you’re going to be a bitch… Keep. Her. Name. Out. Of. Your. Mouth .” His tone was dark, angry, and almost frightening.

        A chill ran through Kas. She mustered up enough rage for one more angry insult. “If you love her so much, why don’t you make her your mistress ?!” Terzo turned to her, his green eye darkened and white eye blazing, and Kas took an involuntary step back. His voice was soft and full of malice, “Say that again, I dare you.” Her hands fumbled with her habit as she tried to decide her next move. She took a steadying breath. “I said make that pink haired bitch your mistress if you love her so much,” Kas spat, trying to infuse her words with venom despite her growing fear. “You won’t claim her as yours, but it’s clear as day.” She could tell by the look on his face that she had gone too far. Whatever chances she had with Terzo Emeritus were over. Kas would never hold any position through a relationship with him. All because of that stupid pink haired bitch, Quinn. “Get out. Get your things, and get the fuck out.” He went back to dressing, slipping into his cassock. A moment later he turned to her again. “You know what, don’t even worry about your things. I’ll have them sent to you.” Kas stared at him. “Terzo… Terzo, I–” He held up a hand to silence her. “I said get the fuck out and I meant now .” Kas grabbed the few remaining things she’d need for the immediate time, and fled his rooms. She had hoped for so much, and now it was gone. Maybe she’d overstepped, but her plans would have worked if she hadn’t had to compete with Quinn.

        The next morning Kasandra answered a knock at her room in the Sibling dormitories, finding a trio of ghouls waiting. One handed her an envelope, indicating she should open it. The others were holding brand new luggage. Perhaps Terzo was apologizing and suggesting a trip, but she knew that was an outlandish thought. An amount of dread filled Kas as she opened the envelope, finding a letter and a plane ticket. The letter was from one of the personnel department higher ups. She was being permanently transferred to a new Ministry location somewhere in Africa, effective immediately. Her eyes widened in horror. The ghoul before her cleared their throat, gesturing at the luggage they’d brought. A large satin purple bow accented with pink adorned the largest suitcase. This was her parting gift from Terzo, and a subtle reminder about what her fatal misstep had been. Kas would never see a higher rank in The Satanic Ministry as she’d hoped; instead she was effectively exiled. “I understand,” she murmured to the ghoul. “Please set the luggage over here.” After they left, Kas sank onto her small bed, holding back tears. She had royally fucked up all of her plans, and she couldn’t even truly blame the annoying pink haired bitch.

[adelaidedrubman]

part iii of the supernatural au. part i | part ii | read on ao3.

notes: vampire!john/werewolf!jestiny back at it. i know it’s officially past spooky season, but since i did already have the rough draft of part three from posting a version of it last year, i still wanted to finish up the redux now <;33

word count: 7k

warnings: explicit nsfw in this one. vampire/werewolf styles, so extra warnings for ample biting/scratching/blood drinking during. dw no one goes full furry. johnjess styles, so semi-public. and the usual warnings for mutual emotional manipulation. john’s is at points specifically geared towards fostering dependence in jessie so as to keep her with him, so it probably deserves an extra warning on his end. jessie’s is at points specifically geared towards degrading john to purposefully cause psychological distress in order to maintain perceived control in their relationship, so it probably deserves an extra warning on — you know what they’re both just awful and shouldn’t be near each other. enjoy. 

“In absolutely no way, shape, or form are you even remotely ready for this!” John hissed under his breath as he paced behind the redhead, grateful the tight cinching at the waist of the cotton dress she wore at least prevented her from transforming to outrun him if she hoped to preserve it. 

“Yes,” she barked, throwing her arms up in frustration but not turning around. “I am!” 

“You are not,” he spat back, slinking up to her side to march in step with her as she rounded the corner to turn onto the road leading through Fall’s End. “Not even close.” 

“I am fuckin’ too,” she tossed her head to the side to snap at him. “I’ve listened to your fucking human lessons for a full fuckin’ week like we agreed.” She jerked her wrist away as he tried to reach for it, increasing the speed of her gait but still resisting any impulse she might have to transform for the time being. 

Fuck, he almost wished she would lose control and shift into wolf form — at least then he would be proven right before it was too late. And her outfit would be ruined, so she’d have no choice but to come home with him rather than continue venturing into town. 

“Over a week,” she added in snippy half growl, officially bringing those extra days that had been hanging uncomfortably over his head crashing down, that sinking knowledge that he was on borrowed time as he basked in her presence. “I’m ready!” 

“You most certainly are not,” he reiterated firmly. 

Yes, a transformation, that’s what he would have to go with. Find a a way to provoke her, make her angry enough to change forms, then herd her back home where she’d be safe, and remind her why she needed to stay there and listen to him. It was risky in and of itself given how close to town they were, and the fact at least some residents were already on alert for werewolf sightings. But it was still less risky than the alternative, and wouldn’t involve hypnotizing her. Not technically. 

“Perhaps you would be ready for a small date at some other bar or restaurant, which I would be happy to oblige,” he continued, hurrying along to better watch her reactions. “But not the Spread Eagle, and not all by yourself,” he said, happy to see her upper lip curl in irritation, a sign her resolve was beginning to break. “Which is what you would be, by the way — I wasn’t lying when I told you Mary May has never once agreed to invite me inside her establishment. I can’t go with you in there. You’d be completely alone!” 

“Good!” she shouted, fists balled at her sides tightly enough he couldn’t gauge the length of her claws. “I don’t need you!” she yelled while continuing to stomp forward, causing his chest to flurry with panic as she sped straight past the ‘Welcome to Fall’s End’ sign without hesitation. “You said yourself, this fuckin’ morning — and I quote — that I look indistinguishable from a normal human the way I’m dressed today!” 

“Looking human isn’t even half the battle, my dear,” he replied with a sneer, making a point of using the term of endearment she so detested. “Your appearance may pass for human, but you’re not nearly well behaved enough to go out on your own.” 

“I know how to fucking behave!” she finally spun around to yell, waving hands angrily in the air — disappointingly, with her claws still retracted. Damn. “Go ahead, quiz me,” she challenged, halting to stand still, posture stiff and tall with determination. “Ask me any human manners shit you want.” 

He scoffed, crossing his arms and shaking his head dismissively. Obviously he wasn’t going to prove anything that way — she had been a shockingly adept and speedy learner, despite her unwillingness to take him seriously. He doubted there was anything he could really ask her that she wouldn’t know. 

“Knowing the technicalities of how to behave isn’t exactly the issue either,” he droned in reply, attempting to conceal his worry with a mimic of snide boredom. “The issue is you actually being able to control yourself to conform to appropriate behavior.” 

Her jaw dropped, her brow tensing in angry disbelief at the assertion as she spun back around to resume storming down the main road towards the heart of town. 

“I have ample fuckin’ self control!” she screamed at him, loud enough to echo through the empty streets. “As is evidenced by the fact I haven’t fuckin’ torn you to fucking shreds yet!” 

“Oh, yes, your discipline is simply irreproachable,” he evened his breath to coo with contrasting calm as he hustled to catch up to her again, growing all the more satisfied with the reaction he was coaxing. “We haven’t even gotten to the bar yet, and you’re already managing to make an angry scene.” 

She skidded to a stop, this time just in front of the church near the edge of town (intentional? spiteful, spiteful thing) before spinning back towards the roadway with a flourish of her skirt to face him with a contrived closed lipped smile and narrowed eyes. 

“Any reasonable human being would be pushed to the point of near violence having to deal with you,” she drawled, a mockery of venomous politeness stretching out the words in her mouth as she folded her arms over her chest. “I would be perfectly calm and controlled if you weren’t around to bother me.” 

“Would you?” he chimed, matching the drawn out rise of her faux friendliness and mirroring her posture to fix onto his own body: crossing arms over his chest, pursing his lips to curl into a pert smile, adding the finishing touch of bending at the waist to lean over her — remind her that he was still larger than her when she wasn’t transformed, sure to anger her enough that she would do so. 

She settled for taking a step back, darting through the opening of the gray stone fencing to retreat onto the church grounds. 

Lovely, so they were back to this little dance again — this time with the threat of luring him into the hallowed ground of the chapel rather than sunlight. But he wasn’t going to fall for that a second time, anyways. Or allow the vindictive little beast to provoke him while he was working to provoke her. And she was so much more given to provocation. 

He took an encroaching step forward, pausing just past the stone perimeter. He paused, reaching to suddenly clutch his chest and feigning a gasp, as if the intrusion onto holy ground had actually wounded him, holding the hand there as his chest boomed with laughter instead. 

(And he swore he saw, as he did so, each flutter of expression lightening fast enough to be missed by mortal eyes: the little wolf girl grin victoriously, then her nose twitch with surprise, then her brow furrow with worry, then harden into anger, then her face styled itself back into contrived politeness. Oh, but he saw, and he knew she cared, that she wanted to stay with him — she was just too stubborn to admit as much on her own.) 

“So you’d be using your most polished manners if I weren’t present, then?” he pressed, shaking off a hum of laughter with the words. “That’s strange, I believe I recall watching you break human form to chase a squirrel just this morning, whilst I was nowhere near you.” He waved a hand between them, as if in dismissal of the thought. “But I’m sure you’ll be fine, so long as I’m not around — and Mary May is up to code on pest control.” 

“She must be, if she’s managing to keep you outta there,” Jessie growled, artificial smile falling once again as her features scrunched in annoyance. Good. “And besides, the squirrel thing was different. I was on my own lawn.” 

“You were actually on my lawn, my dear,” he replied with a demure rise he knew would irritate her, lifting his hand to leave only fingertips pressed to his chest. 

“Well I marked it,” she scoffed, rolling her eyes and taking a more measured step backward. Let the little thing hole up in a church all night in an effort to frustrate him, fine by him. “Doesn’t smell like your lawn.” 

“The mere fact you think that’s determinative tells me you’re not ready for public appearances,” he retorted with a click of his tongue. 

He inched forward, subtly pushing her to better cover, hoping to help conceal any transformation he managed to coax. If he could just get the slightest flash of fangs or sprouting of fur, something physical he could point to. 

“And the list could go on,” he continued, raising the fingertips from his chest. “Lunging at food, barking at sudden noises, snapping at me for the slightest annoyance.” He sighed, dropping the hand he’d been waving on beat with the examples. “I’m sure you know what you should do, but I’ve yet to see you exercise any amount of restraint that would convince me you’d actually successfully do it.” 

“Ooooh-hooo,” she forced out in a derisive laugh, arms now outstretched to her sides as she strode a longer pace back, retreating up the steps of the church and climbing until she towered at the top. “And I can learn it by hanging around you for longer?” she asked, a mocking curl returning to her lips. “Because you’re just the goddamn paragon of restraint and self-control?” 

“Why, yes,” he replied, following along to plant at the base of the steps without yet climbing, content to allow her to get off on having the high ground for now. “I would say my restraint and self-control are exemplary.” 

“Really?” she taunted in challenge, before flinging her arm to the side with a sharp whoosh of air and a quick flick of her fingers to extend claws outward on prominent display, poised for attack. 

“Oh, yes, bring out those claws!” he cried joyously, now hopeful he might even manage to lure her into taking a few swipes at him. It would give him an excuse to subdue her, at least. And while werewolf scratches did heal more slowly than mortal injuries, he could tolerate a few scrapes to get her back home, and away from that godforsaken bar. “That’ll show me how calm and controlled you are!” he exclaimed, turning his head to the side to expose his neck in offering, eyes darting to the corner of his lids to remain locked on her. “Go on, prove your point!” 

She growled, baring teeth but not yet lunging, not yet swinging the fully weaponized arm towards him. 

Instead, she lifted her chin in challenge and brought her claws to her own outstretched neck, holding steady eye contact with him as she slashed the talons along her skin. 

The smell hit him before his eyes even managed to process — that deep, rich scent soaking the air, coating the insides of his lungs the very second that skin broke. 

And he felt that swirling, aching hunger jolt through him as soon as the smell did hit, ratcheting through him so forcefully that his mind stayed even a step further behind his senses, leaving him staring dumbly in an overstimulated stupor as he finally registered the sight of a thin, deep slice running across her neck to release crimson droplets. 

The wound had already begun to heal by the time he bumbled along into proper understanding, skin weaving back together and thickening to seal the reservoir of fresh blood, the amount spilled already congealing and growing stale so that the sudden pain of hunger dulled as quickly as it rose in him, gnawing want turning in center. 

He closed the jaw he hadn’t consciously realized had dropped to allow his fangs to feel cool night air and her scent to settle on his tongue in a ghost of a real taste, trying to stall the ragged breaths he took as they became more tolerable, less intoxicating. 

“You are playing a very dangerous game, little wolf,” he hissed in warning, words still breathy and broken with need but strengthened with venom as hunger sharpened itself into anger upon understanding crystallizing inside him. She was strong, but he could drain her completely dry in one of her pitiful, fragile heartbeats, the ungrateful cur. 

“Now why fucking ever would that be?” she asked, brightened with sarcastic pleasantry and innocence. “Worried you won’t be able to control yourself?” she cooed before hiking a leg back to steady herself and fall propped against the siding of the church. 

She raised a clawed index and middle back to her neck, curling the fingers outward in taunt before jabbing directly into her jugular. She kept the sharpened ends inserted so that the wound couldn’t close itself, blood flowing freely and pooling around the points of nails. 

And before he could even coach himself to grow desensitized to the one sight, she escalated — adding to his torment by brushing her free hand along the bare thigh of her bent leg, pushing her skirt upward and gently scraping nails along her skin without breaking it. She inched closer and close in, leaving light pinkened trails in the wake of her claws before finally retracting them entirely — flaunting exactly how in control of her form she was as she left nails on the other hand protruding and buried in flesh, while she shoved her freshly declawed hand up her dress and beneath the waistband of her briefs. 

Fuck. 

His jaw trembled with the need to bite, irritating the sudden scratchy dryness of his throat desperate to be quenched by the sensation of the hot, thick liquid leaking and sliding down flesh laid before him. 

She was the cruelest monster he’d ever encountered. This was miserable, deplorable torture. Potent, crushing thirst now ached and buzzed through his very marrow, consuming every inch of his being. And the blood rushing between his legs made his veins feel all the more dreadfully hollowed and desperate to be filled, to be fed. 

And the vile creature orchestrating his suffering merely closed her eyes in smug satisfaction as she worked one hand pawing between her legs, the other staying faithfully in place at her neck, nails puncturing her in the prefect mimic of a bite he could give. ( — if he could just — ) Not to mention the blood rising to her cheeks to dust them pink — a sign of her body responding to her own pleasuring touch, and an image almost as deliciously tempting as the weeping rubies dripping down the lengths of her fingers. 

Her shaky breaths drowned out any other sound that might reach his ears, growing labored to match his own in quick, irregular rhythm. And every other available, supernaturally enhanced sense tuned to the blood slowly pouring from her neck — his eyes shaking with the strain of staying unblinking to gorge on the sight of velvety crimson painting her skin; his nose stinging with its heavy aroma as he gasped for air, as if he could fill himself on the scent alone. 

And the overwhelming desire to have with every sense finally grew too great, the need to taste the intoxicating flavor and feel wet warmth too powerful to resist as he bounded towards her in a single fluid swoop, pinning her against the wooden doors of the church as his mouth found her neck and his hips found the space between her legs. 

He burned with shame at how pathetic and needily he lapped at the crimson coating her throat while his hips rocked against her. He brushed her left hand out of the way to press his tongue directly against her wounds, grinding against her right in a frantic and uncaring rhythm as it stayed frustratingly nestled firm between her legs. 

And fuck her blood felt so good swallowed down. Like taking a shot of stiff liquor felt as a human, dizzying and stinging just right, spice lingering on his tongue and pooling warm in his stomach. He suckled hard at the column of her neck as the flow began to slow in healing, his tongue sliding along the entry points as he felt them close beneath his hungry licks. 

He trailed his tongue up and down the now closed and repaired expanse of her throat once it had sealed completely shut, searching for any stray drop to chase another hit of the taste and using his only remaining willpower to restrain himself from sinking teeth in to reopen her veins and feast properly. 

“Real fuckin’ big and in control, huh?” she teased in a playful rasp as he pulled away from her neck, mouth clamped tightly shut while his hips continued to jerk forward with need unsated. “Hanging off my neck like a leech and dry humping me against a church in the middle of town,” she observed with scolding mockery, drawing a low, pitiful whine from him. “That’s your idea of restraint?” 

“Y-You have no fucking idea,” he finally stuttered out, stomach tightening as his eyes trained on the heavy throb of her pulse, grinding his hips harder to stoke the smoldering pleasure from the friction to eclipse the ache of his more destructive hunger, “how much I’m actually controlling myself right now.” 

“Aw, are you?” she hummed with sarcastic pity, bringing the hand still coated with her blood to hover at his mouth. “Being a real good boy for me, huh?” she questioned, slicking her index quickly along his bottom lip to leave a trail of crimson, before jerking the fingers back to make him chase them. 

Which he did — with an embarrassing lack of hesitation — bobbing his head forward to swallow them, giving a muffled whimper of an mmhm in reply as he sucked the fingers clean, consuming the stale and tacky scraps of blood clinging to skin in a ravenous fury. He slid his tongue up and down along their lengths, curling along the sharp edges of her nails with little care for how they sliced him, desperate to lap the blood from every nook and cranny. 

And fuck he didn’t become even a touch less needy when she began pumping the fingers into his mouth in rhythm with the rocking of his hips against her, a delicious shiver traveling down his spine from the sensation of claws scraping the back of his tongue. 

John could feel himself reaching a breaking point, when that last thread of restraint would finally snap and his body would chase what it wanted of its own accord. His appetite for her had only been whetted by the sample of curdling blood now fading on his tongue, and the indirect friction along his hardness dulled by the thick fabric of his pants. The demand to experience her at full potency was raging through him, reducing the last of his resolve to ashes. 

“Fuck,” he cursed, jerking his hand down to undo the buttons of his pants, needing to feel the direct contact of his own touch if nothing else. He buried his brow in the crook of her neck with lingering shame as he exposed himself. “I need you, Jessie. Now,” he groaned in pleading admission. “Right now. I can’t take it anymore.” 

“Mm, can sure see that,” she purred, far too sweetly, thick and rumbling in some sick parody of sympathy. “Such a strong, powerful immortal. Alive all these centuries,” she mocked, trailing her saliva wettened claws along his collarbone. “And still just a needy little mess, huh?” 

She gave him no time to answer, scraping the claws up his neck to fist into his hair and pull, forcing him to look at her before she slid her other hand up from between her legs to once again thrust fingers into his mouth, this time giving him a taste of the slickness that had built inside her. He savored it just as sweetly, running his tongue along the wrinkled pads of her fingers to lick up every last drop. 

“Do you even know what you really want from me?” she asked as she hooked her leg around his waist, mercifully pulling him in closer despite her mockery, allowing him to feel the warm plump outline of her through the thin fabric of her underwear. “To suck me? Or fuck me?” 

“Y-Yes,” he gasped around her fingers — unsure exactly which question he was answering ‘yes’ to, only that it was all of it, he wanted to have all of it, anything she would give him. 

And he made no effort to wait and ask before diving forward to taste the one part of her he still needed to taste, covering the sweet rosy mouth still open in a taunt with his and darting tongue out to give a kiss as hungry as he felt. 

And there was no attempt at gentleness from either of them — all gnashing fangs and bruising pressure, consuming with greed and abandon. Every flavor of her coalesced and tingled along his tongue, the lingering tastes lapped from her fingers combining with the subtle, natural tang of her mouth. And he noted a moment later the more familiar taste of his own blood joining the cocktail, all the more aroused by the careless way her incisors scraped along gum as she met him in uncontrolled hunger. 

She wants it just as bad, he thought with a rough jerk of his hips, delighting in the sting of her teeth scratching the flesh of his mouth. She needs me too. 

“You want it too,” he whispered against her lips, reaching a hand up her skirt and pulling at the waistband of her briefs, ready to tear. “You want to fuck me, too. I know it,” he whined, tugging elastic in a request for permission. “So fucking wet, kiss me so fucking hard. So good,” he offered in clumsy explanation, littering kisses along her jawline. “You want it bad, too.” 

She didn’t agree, nor did she argue. The sounds falling from her lips never formed more than an encouraging groan as she bucked hips forward to meet him. 

“Jessie,” he sighed, slipping a thumb beneath her pantyline to tease, feel proof she was just as aroused with a light brush along slick folds, still waiting for the word to do more. “You want it,” he breathed against her lips, as if willing the words into her own mouth. “I know.” 

“Then what the fuck are you waiting for?” she growled against him, making his lips quiver. 

“Tell me,” he pleaded, still pulling but not tearing. 

Tell me, he continued to pray silently. Tell me you want me Tell me to fuck you Tell me to rip your panties off and take you Tell me you’re mine Tell me I belong to you Tell me I can drink you up swallow you down Tell me you’ll come home Tell me you need me yes you still need me Tell me to cum inside you Tell me you’ll never ever leave Tell me — 

“What?” she demanded, interrupting his jumbled thoughts. She squeezed the thighs she wrapped around him tight. “You need to be fucking invited inside first or something?”

“Can’t you just —” the words choked in his dry and sputtering throat, frustrated she couldn’t just give in and want him, just say that she wants him. “Do you want it?” he finally asked, feeling as if he was stuck back in the same fucking dance with her: inching forward just a hair, tugging elastic to pull to the side and slide his head along her folds, waiting for her to pull back and make him chase. 

Jessie didn’t pull back or answer, not with her words — instead she slinked her own hand between them and sliced claws through the fabric herself, shredding underwear to fall to the ground before canting hips forward to take him with one swift motion. 

His legs trembled from the sudden, unexpected sensation of finally being consumed entirely by that tight, crushing silk winding around every inch. He fell forward weakly to prop an arm against the building and press flush against her body, steadying himself to move with small, slow rocks of his hips, unsure he could take much more yet. 

“God, Jessie,” he whimpered. It felt even better than he could have imagined, finally being buried completely, hugged by tightness he’d only dreamed of. And he wasn’t ready to surrender that warm grip for even the heartbeat it would take to give her a full thrust, limiting himself to pressing forward to rub along walls just enough to keep in motion and stave off the unbearable ache for more. 

But it wasn’t enough for her, apparently — the hand that had shredded her briefs was now gripping his ass, nails digging into the cheek to push him forward into proper thrust. Her other hand held the back of his neck, scraping its side with trimmed nails still more human than animal. 

The sharp jolt of pain there only added power to the frenzied sparks of ecstasy racing through him to build electricity in his base, rushing through every vein in his body as a particularly long drag of his cock inside her drew out a gasp and an outward jab of claws on her previously humanized hand to break the skin of his neck. 

A second gasp signaled her realization, and she retracted her claws just as quickly, tensing and clearing her throat with a deep rumble as she straightened her limbs. 

“Don’t,” he ordered, clear and firm, tilting his hips back. “Don’t try to hold back. Don’t control yourself,” he whispered, barely managing to do so himself when those warm amber eyes found him, narrowing to take him in. “Scratch me up as much as you’d like,” he purred, his own nails digging crescents in her thighs.  “Do tear me to shreds if you’d like. Just don’t hold back. Not with me.” 

Her response came in a crackle of deep piercing pain throbbing in sharp slices along his back. A broken cry vibrated up from her throat and fell against his neck as she buried fangs there, kicking the leg wrapped around him against his back to pull him in with a slap of skin against skin, arching to seek the angle she wanted to grind against him. 

How ironic, he thought at the sharp jolts of pain shooting through his neck.

Before he couldn’t think anything at all, because fuck it just felt so good, so raw. He hadn’t truly lived in his body like this in centuries, feeling weakened by blazing desire as his shirt was ripped to shreds and she bucked hips eagerly against him. The most he could do was prop her up, do his best to meet thrusts in frantic rhythm as she fucked herself on him, using his body however she wished to chase her pleasure. 

God, he hadn’t been fucked like this since he was human — his lovers since all vampires who kissed and touched with the same cold, efficient gracefulness and precision as him, or humans content to lay back in surrender and let him take what he wanted. But this — this made him feel fucking alive again. 

“N-Not too much of that though, my dear,” he gasped with a jerk back of his neck as she lapped the blood trickling from it. Couldn’t have her really turning, after all, if she drank enough of his blood. 

Her blood, he thought dizzily. The taste of her he had earlier was surely running through his veins by now, only to be swallowed back down by her, their lives mixing, boundaries of their bodies blurring. 

“Still not your fuckin’ dear,” she growled back, craning forward to nibble at his lip instead. 

“My Jessie,” he murmured through the bite of her canines in apology. “My sweet, sweet Jessie. My perfect little Jessie, my —” 

“I’m not fucking sweet either. Or little. Or fucking yours,” she grumbled through his praise, determined to be difficult every step of the way. “And you just told me to — to do what the fuck I want.” 

“You have to argue about absolutely everything, don’t you?” he answered in lazy complaint, forgetting any opposition just as quickly as she clawed to rip the last scrap of his shirt from his back. 

“Well, if that’s what I want,” she snapped, yanking away the hand that had been cupping her cheek to pull down between them, her own talons digging into the backs of his fingers as she pressed down and guided them to work in rubbing circles. “You need to decide what — what you fuckin’ want,” she grunted, a clear final effort at hostility as pink bloomed along her chest and creeped up her neck to make it look all the more delectable. 

“God, you can’t even stop being spiteful for a full ten minutes,” he bemoaned in his own last effort at keeping up bickering, needing the distraction himself as he felt his body try to reel toward the promise of release before he was ready. “Can’t even stop to just — ah, just enjoy getting fucked.” 

“You don’t like it?” she rasped, grasping onto his shoulder and snapping hips more harshly and unsteadily against him, constricting tighter and threatening to bring him to his finish as pressure built to a point of inevitable collapse. 

“I fucking love it,” he admitted with a broken cry, fucking deeper into her, wanting to give her as much of himself as he could. Because of course he loved it, he loved the claws, he loved the fury, he loved the obstinance and the bloodshed and untamed spite, he loved — 

“F-Fuck, John —” Her claws shredded the skin along his neck, surely leaving marks that would remain for days, and she wound even tighter around him, clenching so hard it was almost painful, so that he had to press his hips flush against her to stay inside and fuck her through her peak, savor the pulsing of her walls around him. 

“Yes, Jessie, fuck yes,” he cursed in encouragement as he allowed the flutters of her finish to fade, holding out a moment more to let her fully bask in the release before he returned to selfishly feeding the needs of his own body. “Love it,” he repeated, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Fucking love it. Love it when you let go.” 

She let out a choked gasp as she threw back her head to thud against the wood, eyelids slowly fluttering open to gaze upon him, surely finding him looking just as ruined as she did. 

“Fuck,” he groaned, his own forehead slamming against the door behind her as he buried his face in the crook of her neck, slowing and elongating his strokes, clinging to that last build of pleasure as it quickly became too much. “So fucking good, I’m — Fuck, I’m close, let me —” 

She scraped nails along his neck as she resumed her motions rocking against him. “Not very in control now, huh?” she ground out, voice recovering to grow steady and clear with smug taunting once again. “Like you like this,” she purred, gripping the back of his neck, placing the softest kiss to the top of his head. “Want you to let go, too.” 

“Can I?” he gasped, unable to speak and solidify exactly what he was asking for, only knowing that the hungry ache inside was reaching a pitch, and he was desperate for her to give him permission to let it take over. 

And mercifully she didn’t ask him to explain, answering with a single word and the shifting of her body to give him access to everything he wanted. “Yes,” she sighed, tilting hips forward, tightening the grip of her legs around his waist to hold him in place, tossing her head to the side to offer the soft expanse of her neck. 

That was all he needed, the pressure inside him finally crashing, all that hunger and want swirling to a final frenzy as he buried his cock in her center and his teeth in her neck in synch, gasping around the opened skin as he finished. 

Finally. He finally allowed himself the luxury of a single full drink as he found release, draining and filling her, giving and taking. 

He struggled to will his body back under his control, limiting himself to just one gulp of the thick crimson nectar as he pulled back with another, deeper gasp and a final few rolls of his hips to ride out waves of pleasure, savoring the relief of finally being sated. 

Satisfied his restraint had returned, he brought his mouth back to her throat to lap the remaining drops of blood from the bite, ending the encounter the same way he had begun it. 

He ran his tongue along the puncture wound one last time as he attempted to even the heaving of his chest, feeling the slight dips that remained as the flow of blood dammed. It would be slower to heal than a typical wound for her, same as the scratches along his neck and back, sure to stay visible for another day or two. 

But he thought he rather liked that. 

“Will you please —” he finally huffed, between a last few pants as he caught his breath. “Just fucking come home now?” 

She grunted, lowering a trembling leg to the ground and taking a step back from the church. She looked down, smoothing a hand along her wrinkled shirt, then rubbing along the puncture wound at her throat, circling around to scratch the back of her neck. 

“Be honest,” she started, voice still hoarse and gravelly from strain, so that she sounded very much the same as she did the first time she spoke to him, still easing into the habit of speech. “I don’t look like a normal human right now, do I?” she asked, running a hand through tangled copper. “I look like — I look like I just fucked a dracula, don’t I?” 

“Well, you certainly look like you just fucked someone,” he replied, casually pulling up his pants. He allowed his eyes to fall along the bitemark at her neck, smiling at his work. “Who was very likely a vampire.” 

She tensed the corners of her mouth and nodded in reluctant acceptance, picking up the scraps of torn underwear from the church steps and shoving them in her pocket. “And normal humans don’t fuck draculas outside churches, do they?” 

“Normal humans don’t fuck in public outdoor spaces period,” he replied, descending the steps. He knew that she knew the proper term was ‘vampire,’ and that she was still just trying to get a rise out of him. He tried to not let it work. 

“They don’t?” she asked with a cock of her head, brow furrowing in confusion that appeared quite genuine. “Like, not even when no one’s around?” she questioned, meeting him at the base of the steps. “Not even when the weather’s nice?” 

He nodded in confirmation before turning in the direction out of town, slowly beginning to walk and coaxing her to follow. 

“Fuck,” she cursed. He smiled, hearing the crunch of dry leaves beneath boots that told him she was following behind. “I guess I do still have shit to learn about being human…” 

“I’ll say,” he replied, doing his best to flatten his tone with bored disinterest. “So will you please return to my home, so I can continue educating you?” 

“My home,” she barked resolutely, accompanied by a rustling of footsteps to catch up. “I marked it.” 

“Still going with that argument?” he responded in the same droll bickering tone, despite the way the words fluttered in repetition in his insides. My home, she said. She was home, her home was with him — but he couldn’t cling to that on the outside the way he did inside, couldn’t show how he wished to dig his teeth into it. She would surely bolt if he did. “Your first lesson can be my explaining to you why that won’t hold up in any human court of law.”

“Human court of law — isn’t that a bit of a fucking oxymoron?” she scoffed, leaning forward just enough to show him a flash of that mischievous crooked grin of hers, the glisten of a single fang peeking through lips and the dip of a dimple sinking into one cheek. “Since when are any lawyers considered human? Even the ones who aren’t draculas?” 

“Hm, and I suppose your second lesson of the day will once again need to be on freshening up your jokes,” he replied, pointedly ignoring the ‘dracula’ bait. 

“Fresh? That’s also pretty rich, coming from an undead fucking —” 

“But I suppose we should shelve both topics for the time being to focus on your dinner etiquette,” he interrupted, sparing himself a subtle glimpse to gauge her reaction in his periphery, pausing and inhaling to ensure he didn’t smell the musk of fear wafting from her at the mention. “Now that it seems you won’t be skipping town before your presence is required at dinner with my family.”

She gave a grunt of laughter, shaking her head. “The fuck I will,” she replied with a dismissive wave of her arm. “You can still tell your weirdo family you got dumped. I’ll just be waiting out the freakshow at my house instead of a few towns over.” 

“A few problems with that approach, Jessie dearest,” he said, purposefully skirting as close as he could to the forbidden term of endearment. “One is that our annual family dinner is traditionally hosted at my abode.” 

“My fuckin’ abode. Mine. Unless you have a second tacky ass ranch somewhere I don’t know about, the place we happen to be heading right this moment actually fucking belongs to —” 

“Secondly, it tends to not be possible for a fledgling to ‘dump’ their sire at all.” 

The rustling of her footsteps halted. She stayed there, seemingly in thoughtful silence, face scrunching with an emotion he couldn’t quite place, no matter how closely he studied it. Until she broke the silence with an exaggerated retching noise — the little wolf girl making a dramatic pantomime of gripping her paws at her knees and pretending to vomit. 

“Ugh,” she spat, holding out her tongue. “Ew. ‘Sire?’ Ugh,” she coughed, as if choking on the word. “Do not ever fucking call yourself that again. Fucking christ, John — Ew. I would rather eat a whole fucking field of wolfsbane than ever fucking hear you say —” 

“Very mature,” he hissed, slowing but not stopping his own stride as he waited for her to finish the theatrics. “But your histrionics aside, it’s true. Once a sire —” 

“Enough!” she yipped, covering her trembling ears and staggering forward as if truly injured, outpacing him. “I-I — I’ll make you a fucking deal,” she cried over her shoulder, looking back at him with eyes wide with a terror that failed to seep into her scent with authenticity. “I’ll go to your dracula dinner, if you just stop using that fucking word!”

John sighed. He would never have expected an undomesticated and until recently entirely solitary werewolf to require such intricate social rituals as pretext to being led to do any tiny, simple thing. 

“On two additional conditions,” he huffed, hanging his head as if actually in defeat as he sped up again to flank her. “You actually listen and allow me to prepare you for it, and you stop using the term ‘dracula.’” 

“Well the fuck else am I supposed to call you? Because it’s not going to be fuckin’ —” 

“Just let me teach you how to behave at dinner, then,” he interrupted in offering, expecting from the beginning to be talked down. “I mean, you already look the part of a soon-to-turn fledgling,” he said, darting his gaze pointedly to the bitemarks standing out deep maroon on ivory skin. “Now if you can just prove to me that you can control yourself well enough to act like one…”

A twitch of anger, as expected — a spark of gold in her eyes he knew meant an irrepressible drive to meet the challenge issued, no matter her disdain. So easily provoked. 

“Fine,” she snapped, snarling at him. “But not because I have anything to fucking prove to you!” Certainly, Jessie, he forced his accommodating smile to say. Of course not, Jessie; never that, Jessie. “Because it would be funnier if they thought you got dumped after you went through all the fucking work of turning me.” 

“Of course, Jessie,” he replied plainly, with a flutter of his lashes. “We can start right away, as soon as we’re home —” 

“Then the fuck are we waiting around taking a leisurely stroll for?” she grumbled, offering him one last scowl. 

It was quickly followed by a hushed roar and the sound of ripping fabric that alerted him to her transformation before he saw the flash of russet fur — limbs twisting and falling to the grounds as she took the shape of a wolf. 

“My god, you’re a slower learner than I thought!” he cried with exaggerated shock. “That’s still rule number one — do not transform in the middle of public!” 

His cries were, naturally, futile, as she sprinted off ahead of him with no more than a vague growl — truly never too much progress ever to be made with her. As soon as he allowed himself to believe they’d gotten anywhere he found himself right back where they were that same night — one endless dance or another, her obstinately running off ahead of him yet again. 

Except. 

Except this time she stopped, just past the ‘Welcome’ sign, turning over her shoulder to look back at him expectantly with warm amber eyes he would recognize in any form. And waiting. 

He gave her a last human smile before shifting with a pop and cloud of smoking to transform into bat form, flying the remaining distance to her to perch upon her shoulder. He gave a pleased little squeak as she took off, content to ride there as she lumbered the rest of the way home. 

Perhaps they were getting somewhere after all.

[ina-nis]

Still irritated about how the conversation about emotional needs and the (what seems like) deliberate ignorance over different kinds of loneliness goes.

Yes! Absolutely! So you’re depressed because you don’t have X and people keep on telling you how much you’re missing out about A, B and C because you’re so focused in X, so surely trying to do that other thing is going to help, right? It might! It also might not! It could make matters worse as well! Or how much you should try to focusing on self-help, self-love, self-improvement, self self self self self self SELF, drives me fucking insane. I don’t want any more self focus, I need to learn how to exist externally, to get out of my brain. Or how much <insert some coping activity/hobby/exercise> can change your life forever. Or literally any thing else along these lines.

It’s so fucking infuriating that there exists this assumption that one must be miserable and just throw everything and everyone away, and is solely focused on their misery. Oh sure, some people absolutely are! But isn’t that shitty? And ableist as fuck?

“Wow if only you stopped being so mentally ill you could have a Normal Life Like Other People.”

Do people stop to use their goddamn brains for a fucking second? Holy shit! This might comes as a shock but even if you do engage in a number of different activities and have different kinds of relationships, your mental illnesses might not really get “better”. They can definitely improve a lot, one might even reach remission; while for others, the improvement is so little it feels insignificant.

Personally, I have had a lot of improvements in my life and mental illnesses too, while at the same time, some of my illnesses got much worse (AvPD being the main culprit), and even getting worse as a response to the other improvements! These can and do exist separately. It helps me seeing them separately so I can have an ounce of control over my life and my happiness, without avoiding the unpleasant feelings.

I have friends. I talk to people regularly. I go outside and literally touch grass.

I have several hobbies online and offline, I exercise constantly, I do a million different activities every day all the time for myself and also to cope with my brain.

I’m basically in a constant state of self-care and doing the best I can to become a better person for myself for my own sake because I know I’m worth the time and energy I spend doing this (even when I acknowledge my self-esteem might never get 100% “perfect”).

I love and am very thankful of my relationships and connections to people, of my hobbies and passions and of how well I take care of myself.

None of those things meet my emotional needs, nor address the type of loneliness that’s making me sick.

Among other things, they’re crutches, workarounds and stopgaps, they don’t address shit.

They do not address shit.

I’m giving myself permission to be angry over this.

I’m giving myself permission to be angry with assumptions about me and my life, with the understanding that, a lot of times, it comes from ignorance and it’s so very ableist.

I don’t want to hear any more about how much doing so many things can improve my life. I’m not a fucking idiot, I know that already. That’s why I fucking do them, for fuck’s sake.

My life is good, I’m happy, I’m getting healthier and happier and I still have to deal with this dumpster fire of a disorder all on my fucking own. It fucking sucks, it makes me suicidal even with all the happiness and good things.

I’m so goddamn tired.

I can be angry over this.

[ohnohetaliasues]

Stones to Abbigale {Ch. 10}

(Kat)

Here we go again. I am still alive and actually still active on tumblr, but I mostly do writing and fanfiction now. I still enjoy the occasional fic review, though.

If I have to read Abbi and James going any further than kissing I’m going to need either a brain transplant or a lobotomy, whichever makes me forget faster. 

But I know they will. I know they will and I will have to read it with my two eyes and you will be able to read my suffering. I will put a warning when that chapter comes around in case any of you want to skip it. I honestly wouldn’t blame you.

Let’s get into it.

The next morning I was surprised Davis didn’t leap up to greet me as I walked on the bus with Abbi. We sat across from him but he just looked out his window, surrounding himself in a silent gloom while paying us no attention. 

I mean, there’s the chance he’s traumatized. He did just survive a shooting.

“Hey Davis, how are you today?” I asked. 

Davis replied without turning towards me, “Why don’t you have a car? You’re 17, only losers like me ride the bus.” 

Well, that’s a rather rude way of responding to a friend asking you how you are.

Abbi gave me a look of concern.

As she should. 

 Though Abbi didn’t know Davis too well yet, she understood him to be a happier person; neither of us expected Davis to say something so negative.

 I responded to Davis, “Not everyone has a white picket fence life Davis, some people have to ride the bus.” 

I hate the way the dialogue tags are written before the actual fucking dialogue. It’s so irritating to read and it is nOT HOW YOU WRITE DIALOGUE.

Davis turned angrily and spoke as he pierced me with the most intense glare I had ever seen, “You don’t think I know that? You should get a job! Buy your own car! What are you even doing with your life?”

In case you forgot, Davis, teenagers usually don’t have everything figured out. As much as I hate James, there’s no reason for him to be attacked for something as completely fucking mundane as riding the school bus. 

I sat back, giving up on changing his mood and thought to myself “Happiness, as far as I care, can’t be acquired through any means if love is not involved.”

 If I got a job on top of school, I’d have barely any time to spend with Abbi.

She now apparently lives with you, plus you go to school with her. You’ll see her plenty.

I needed her more than anything and I thought Davis knew this. 

Broski, he probably needs you, too. 

He’s supposed to James’ best friend, but all James cares about is Abbi and I imagine Davis is probably annoyed and hurt that James is only paying attention to his girlfriend and not making time for his best friend after something like this happened.

Or Onion wants to create drama, and making Davis angry for some reason is the most low effort way of doing so. My money is on that since I don’t think that man is capable of intelligent, complex thoughts, nor is he capable of any kind of decent storytelling. 

Davis was probably just upset over everything that had happened recently and this was his way of coping.

It’s honestly more concerning that James isn’t as affected by the shooting. Davis is reacting in a normal way to a massive, traumatizing, and tragic event. All James cares about is the girl in his bed. 

Trying to close the conversation on a less negative note I said, “Well buddy, I’m here if you need me!” with the same tone he always used on me.

No, you’re not.

He rolled his eyes, scoffed and scooted closer to his window. Abbi remained next to me, running her fingers over the hairs on my hand. It was such a positive distraction.

Why is she doing that instead of just holding his hand? That’s not a thing I’ve ever heard of someone doing. Did Onion forget that sometimes people hold hands and like, run their fingers over the person they’re holding hands with’s knuckles? 

Later that morning I found myself in my History class staring at a very nervous Mr. Hanson. 

“You all realize the President of the United freaking States is going to be here right?” he asked the class. 

Okay, two things.

That was actually formatted how a quotation should, but that’s probably not going to stick.

Secondly, WHAT?!

I think this was released in like, 2015 or so, meaning that was Obama, so does this just make this book a very elaborate ‘Obama was there’ meme? I will choose to look at it that way since that makes it a minuscule amount less insufferable. 

I know that the President sometimes goes to schools to speak. President Obama once just arrived at a DC high school. He just casually strolled into a classroom, like the legend he is. I guess it makes sense for him to show up to speak in the wake of a tragedy like this, but it was just so fucking jarring that this was announced the day it was happening instead of, I dunno, days in advance like how planning usually works?

Whoever planned this needs to be fired. 

Most the students looked confused, as we were not briefed when exactly we would see him.

Why? Why not?

A voice erupted as our classroom door was swiftly pushed open. 

“The President of the United freaking States is about to arrive ladies and gentlemen,” said a large man wearing a black suit.

This is all happening so fast I don’t even know what to say.

 Mr. Hanson laughed nervously over the fact that, what we soon realized was a member of the Secret Service, had overheard him. 

Thanks for that unnecessary comma after ‘Secret Service.’ Also, that whole sentence in general was just a fucking mess. 

It should be written something like: “Mr. Hanson laughed nervously when he realized that someone had overheard him, and we later realized said person was a member of the Secret Service.”

See? The sentence structure is better, it reads easier, and it doesn’t make your brain hurt. But no, no editing allowed, no criticism, it’s against Onion laws.

Throw me in Onion Jail then, I guess. 

Also, did the Secret Service member just announce the president arriving by saying “the President of the freaking United States,” like he’s surprised by the person he works for? Is he an idiot, or is he just constantly in awe of the President? My money is on both.

Edit: I realize he’s quoting Mr. Hanson, but I like my joke that I made and I’m keeping it there even if it’s stupid.

Mr. Hanson turned to the class and in a rushed tone said “Alright, think before you ask the President anything, no stupid questions!” 

Ah, there goes the proper formatting of dialogue. We had a good run.

Another voice came from outside the door “You’re right Mr. Hanson, there are no stupid questions.” 

Hello, Obama. 

We all froze to see it was the President who had spoken.

As he walked in the room I quickly realized he was much taller than I had assumed from watching TV. The President centered himself in the room as the Secret Service asked Mr. Hanson to take a seat at his desk.

Four members of the USSS stood behind the President as he began to speak, 

Why? It would make more sense for them to be stationed at the doors, but I’m not an expert on the US Secret Service so I really wouldn’t know. It just seems crowded as fuck to have four people standing behind you while standing in an already not very large classroom, but I digress.

“I’m not here to bring a dark cloud into this room. I want to be uplifting, to be helpful, and I want all of you to feel like you can say whatever you like, without any fear of criticism or repercussion”

There is no period at the end of that sentence. 

 Chris Jenkins, the class clown, blurted out “Why are you such a D-Bag?”

Um.

I have met stupid people. But I don’t think I’ve met anyone that stupid.

Actually, that’s a lie, there were some massive dumbasses I went to high school with. And, truthfully, who I go to college with, currently.

 Most everyone in the class sat in shock as Mr. Hanson violently lurched up like a frantic animal yelling in a high-pitched tone “Chris! How dare you disrespect the...”

If I have to read the words ‘most everyone’ again I am going to have a fucking conniption. I don’t think Onion ever passed high school English class. Hell, I don’t think he passed middle school English. 

He has the IQ of a fucking life raft, though, so nobody is surprised by that. 

If you’ll allow me to go into a writer rant here for a second, I’ll tell you why this is wrong. ‘Most everyone’ is not proper grammar. The word ‘most’ means the greatest part of something, as all of you undoubtedly know, so ‘most everyone’ means the greatest part of everyone here. What greatest part are you talking about? Their heads and torsos? Their legs and torsos? 

While people do use it, it sounds fucking wrong. Like, if you replace it with ‘almost everyone’ it works and sounds normal, but ‘most everyone’ sounds fucking stupid. 

“Mr. Hanson.” the President interrupted, “Thank you.” 

A USSS member then asked Mr. Hanson to return to his seat.

The dialogue formatting is making me so goddamn mad that I have to correct it because it’s such a headache to read. I leave the dialogue tags as they are, because that means I can make fun of them, but I cannot read something where there are no fucking paragraph breaks when somebody speaks. 

DOES THIS MAN NOT KNOW THE BASIC RULES OF WRITING DIALOGUE? NO. HE JUST DECIDED TO WRITE A BOOK WITHOUT PRACTICING AND PUBLISHED HIS FIRST DRAFT. 

There is nothing more impersonal that critiquing someone’s grammar, but even when fans offered to help correct spelling and grammar, Onion refused. So, like a moron, he released the book unedited. Or he let his partner edit it. I don’t know, they didn’t do a very good job if that’s the case.

The President walked over to Chris, pulling his own pants slightly back so he could crouch.

 Why the fuck does he feel the need to crouch?

 “Now you may feel I am what you said, a D-Bag, but you should know to address me as President D-Bag as I, and many Americans, believe I earned the title of President.”

Uh. Okay. 

Sick burn, I guess?

Chris, now shaking and not knowing what to say let out a nervous and horribly awkward chuckle. 

Why is he shaking? It’s not like the President threatened him.

The President smiled and returned to the front of the room as he said “Now what other questions do you all have for me?”

 Literally everyone in class aside from Chris raised their hand. 

‘Literally everyone’ is a nice change from ‘most everyone.’

Y’know, because it fucking makes sense. 

Also, why the fuck is he taking questions instead of making a speech about the shooting, or saying what his response plan will be for gun violence so these kids don’t have to be afraid? Nah, he just pulls up like ‘so who wants to ask me a question?’ Like this is a Reddit AMA.

The President looked directly at me and said “James Patrick, the boy who nearly saved the day, what is your question?” 

Nearly saved the day? James didn’t do shit. All he did was run around looking for Abbi, he didn’t save anyone’s lives. The incessant praise James receives for doing absolutely fucking nothing is baffling. 

I replied, “You know who I am?” 

He responded, “I’ve read up on this school and the recent events quite a bit. How are your feet healing up?”

Why would some random ass dude who got glass in his feet be in any kind of official report? Sure, his name would be among the survivors and witnesses, but he didn’t really do anything of note. This is absolute bullshit.

 I was overwhelmed but I had to keep it together so I quickly replied, “Really well actually, the ambulance guys did an amazing job getting the glass and dirt out.” 

You mean the EMTs? The paramedics? They have a technical name. This makes it seem like Onion forgot what they were called and just didn’t bother to google it. 

Which, honestly, is probably what happened.

The President followed with “That’s wonderful to hear, what was your question?” 

I replied, “I just wanted to know how you feel about the things people call you, in the news and around the world.”

Completely irrelevant to the situation at hand, but okay.

The President gave a slightly sad smile and replied “I cannot, and do not want to control what people say about me.

Why? You wanna have a good approval rating, don’t you?

All I can really fully control is what I myself am saying and doing. I find myself repeatedly stating that I came into office with the best intentions, and I continue to lead as President with those very same intentions. Some decisions I have to make aren’t always fair to me, my family or many people around the world, but sometimes your only options lie between the end of a slipknot or the blade a guillotine, and that’s the burden I chose to carry.” 

Why does this sound like something Trump would say?

Gross.

Also, ‘sometimes your only options lie between the end of a slipknot or the blade of a guillotine?’ That is an absolutely bonkers thing to say to a room full of high school students.

The class paused for a few seconds and then all at once everyone but Chris & myself raised their hands again.

Why— Why the ampersand? That’s not proper grammar. You do not use an ampersand to replace the word ‘and’ in a sentence in prose writing, the two are not interchangeable. 

One of the USSS members spoke up “Mr. President we need to move on.”

He was there for like, two minutes. Why the hell is he going from class to class individually instead of just holding an assembly and speaking in front of the whole school?

 The President lifted his hand and said to the class “I want you all to know there are going to be some major changes around your school. I’ve approved a budget shift that will help fund significant renovations and an effective security program that will promote a safer environment for everyone here.”

Uh. Great. Thanks. Better than thoughts and prayers, I suppose.

“I will not stand by and do nothing when these incidents occur. So I’m doing what any responsible person in my position would do to make you all feel safer in this learning environment.” 

As much as I hate Onion, we apparently share the same views on restricting guns and gun laws. Not sure how I feel about that. 

He then smiled as the USSS opened the door behind him. “Thank you all, and Chris, remember our talk, ok?” 

The ‘President D-bag’ talk? That was not really a life lesson, it was just a thing that happened.

Also, Onion should be called President D-bag.

Chris remained speechless as the President walked out.

I relate.

Mr. Hanson then stood up while looking at Chris as if he had just slapped Mr. Hanson’s mother right in front of him. Mr. Hanson maintained his glare as he walked to the front of class.

Uh, I mean, he’d probably get a stern talking to. Even the idiots I went to high school were a bit less fucking brazen than calling the POTUS a douchebag. 

Mr. Hanson sighed deeply and looked down at the floor, he then asked, “Did anyone else almost pass out?” 

No, just you.

The class erupted with laughter as the teacher wiped sweat from his forehead with the towel he used as a white board eraser. The towel smeared ink all over his forehead, which made us all laugh even harder. Unfortunately I was faced with the reality that he would blame his humiliation on me if I did not tell him right away, as my next period still required I act as a Teachers’ Assistant for him.

Why the fuck would be blame James for that? James didn’t do anything.

The first thing Abbi said to me when I met with her later that day in gym class was “So it looks like Mrs. Stanley’s getting a new desk.”

 I replied “The president?” 

“Yep, he met with you guys too?”

I nodded and she added “In other news, Jason has been hitting on me, not sure what to do about it.” 

Tell him to stop? I mean, easier said than done, but you could try that. Or you could break his arms, whichever comes first.

I replied concerned “Like just flirting, or is it heavy?” 

She answered, “I think the whole saving our lives thing went to his head. He just grabbed my butt in class after the President left the room.”

 I went silent.

Trying to reassure me she said “I yelled at him not do it again.”

Uh, good. Holy fuck. What a tool. 

 I replied, “Did you talk to the teacher?” 

She answered “Mrs. Stanley saw I was uncomfortable and said she would give him detention if he tried to do it again.” 

No, give him detention immediately, he fucking groped someone. Hell, suspend him.

I loved that she did everything I would have done, leaving no room for me to imagine potential alternatives to what she felt about Jason’s chauvinistic act.

She isn’t helpless without you, James. Fun fact, women are autonomous beings who can care for themselves. We’re cool like that.

 I smiled slightly and said “Well, thank you for telling me...” 

She interrupted “What about you? Any girls grabbing your butt these days?”

Interesting topic of conversation. I, too bond with my nonexistent significant other over ass grabbing. 

I replied with a slight smile, “Nope, guess my butt just isn’t as good looking as yours.” She squealed and hugged me

Why is that her response?

as the substitute walked in and blew his whistle.

Oh I forgot they were in gym class.

“All right everyone let’s play some badminton!” the sub said, pronouncing everything as it was spelled. 

Raymon responded “Don’t you mean bad-mitten?”

No.

Oh god, did he not read this out loud?

Badminton is often pronounced more like bad-mitten when spoken out loud, so—Why would the sub say it like that? You know what, nevermind.

Jesus Christ, these attempted jokes are exhausting.

 The teacher replied “I didn’t Ray-man, is that ok with you?” 

Now angered, he responded, “It’s Ray-mon!” 

This is aggressively stupid.

The sub laughed and said “Alright everyone, do you want to see Ray-man vs. your sub in bad-min-ton?”

 A lot of us screamed “Yeah!” and so the game ensued.

Raymon seemed to get hit with the birdie more than the actual racket did. We kept laughing because he was trying so hard to look cool but kept failing repeatedly and as a result, looked completely goofy.

I’m actually decent at badminton, and it’s honestly not very hard, so this guy is apparently just really uncoordinated. 

After the teacher had scored on him for the 10th time Raymon threw down his racket.

 The teacher loudly asked, “So is that game? No more bad-min-ton?”

 Trying to sound tough Raymon screamed, “This is a sissy game anyway!” 

Shut your face.

Someone watching yelled to everyone “Uh oh watch out he might try to shoot us too!” 

Who the fuck would say that?

Why the fuck would you say that?

Like, holy fuck that is not okay on every level.

We all went silent; one girl jumped up and walked off in a hurry. I could see she was holding her cries in until she could get out of the room.

A valid response, Jesus Christ. The insensitive asshole who said the deserves a kick to the teeth.

Raymon angrily looked over at the person who made the comment. The individual who yelled put their head down.

In what fucking world would it be okay to make a joke like that after something like this happened? In the place it happened?

This person would be suspended. They’d be in huge trouble. Jesus Christ I hate this book more than any book I’ve ever read. This makes Blood Raining Night look like fucking Shakespeare. I had more fun reading My Immortal than I have had reading a single letter of this drivel. At least My Immortal doesn’t rely on shock and outrage to forward its (dubious) storyline, it’s just pure insanity. But at least it’s fun insanity.

This is just nihilistic, pretentious insanity.

They were obviously trying to avoid being pierced by Raymon’s glare. Raymon then furiously walked off, throwing a tantrum by kicking a garbage can while pulling off his shirt as he passed through the boys’ locker room entrance.

A VALID FUCKING RESPONSE.

“Alright everyone, pick a partner and start playing!” the teacher said just before following Raymon into the locker room.

Honestly, I’d worry if he was okay. In no way was the shooting Raymon’s fault, and I cannot fathom why that person said that to him. That last section was wholly unnecessary.

Naturally Abbi was on my team and we played against a couple of people who were equally unenthusiastic about the sport so we basically just stood around talking about how dorky our uniforms were and basically anything we could to keep our minds preoccupied.

Usually not what I talked about while playing badminton in high school PE, but to each their own, I suppose.

Later that night at dinner, we had to put together a makeshift chair for Rick as Abbi was still staying with us. 

A makeshift chair??? What would that even look like? A bunch of pots stacked on top of each other? A stump cut from the back yard? Do they not have like, a folding chair or even a stool? Why the hell does he get a makeshift chair?

My mom began to talk about their move “So Rick let me know he’s happy to help cover your food, utilities etcetera while you stay here in the condo.” she said, Abbi and I looked at each other happily and hugged excited that it was confirmed. Abbi and I didn’t have to move anywhere.

Okay, let me get this straight. 

James’ mom is just completely fine with her teenaged son living with his also teenaged girlfriend in a condo, alone, and is just chill with having her rich boyfriend who she has been dating for not nearly long enough pay for food and utilities? And said rich boyfriend is also fine with doing this?

She’s just… fine with this? In what goddamn world would any parent allow that? She deserves to have CPS called on her.

I’m going to walk into the goddamn ocean if this is just an excuse to get rid of adult supervision so these two idiots can have copious amounts of sex that I will then have to read with my two eyes.

My mom continued, “Your sister is going to come with us.” 

I looked at my sister and asked, “What’s up sis?” 

She just pushed food around on her plate and mumbled, “It’s whatever. I don’t want to talk about it.” 

My mom gave me a look that I should just drop it, so I did.

Okay, why though? If we’re going by this logic, why isn’t his sister staying behind with them? She goes to the same school and is half way through her senior year, it would be stupid to rip her away from school so close to graduation.

 I had a friend in high school whose father got a new job that sent the family to Hawaii, but she wanted to stay and finish high school, so she stayed with a friend for the school year. But the difference there is that she was staying with adults instead of alone in a house her parents paid for. She was a minor, and not an emancipated one, so she had to stay with a guardian by law. This whole thing makes absolutely zero fucking sense.

Abbi squeezed my hand; she was still smiling widely at me. I was pretty overwhelmed with what this all meant as well. One of the greatest pending burdens hovering over my head had been removed from my life completely. However ridiculous it sounds, knowing I could be separated from Abbi, to me, was the equivalent of a doctor telling me I might have cancer, only to reveal later, it was nothing. I felt like I was getting my life back, without ever really having it taken away in the first place.

Okay. I can put up with a lot without getting utterly furious, but that pisses me off. You do not get to compare almost having to move away from your girlfriend to a possible diagnosis of cancer. My mother just recently beat cancer, and the effect that this diagnosis had on my family when it was given was earth shattering. It was not even comparable to having to move away from a significant other. It was one of the hardest, most terrifying periods my family has ever been through, and it traumatized my sister, effecting her in ways that it didn’t affect me or my father. It was horrifying, all of it, and I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy.

Onion​ is an insensitive dickweed, and the fact that this comparison was even made is insulting. Having to leave a significant other is sad, sure, but it is not on the same level as a life changing diagnosis like fucking cancer. Don’t you dare make that comparison, you fucking ingrate.

Onision, fuck you. I hope you choke on your next meal, wherever you are. 

Back to this stupid fucking trash book.

After dinner, Abbi and I cuddled in bed while listening to some of her favorite bands. She would sing along to the songs, knowing most the words, as I just kept my eyes closed, paying close attention to how her skin felt pressed against mine.

In that room alone with her, I often found myself feeling like nothing else mattered. She gave all my senses something to devour to the point where I began to feel like the rest of the world barely existed at all.

The level of obsession James has with her is not healthy. A person’s life should not merely revolve around their partner. At least, nobody mentally well and stable.

I fell asleep listening to the sound of her beautiful voice, softly singing.

Great. I love that this book has inspired rage among the bottomless void of utter apathy that I’ve been feeling thus far. Makes for an amazing and totally not draining reading experience. 

Now, I have come to a very obvious conclusion. Onision, Greg, whatever you call yourself nowadays, I frankly don’t care. I don’t know if he’ll ever see this, and I don’t care about that either, because interacting with him sounds like an exhausting waste of time, but I need to say this anyway. 

Onision Gregory James Jackson cannot write. He cannot create interesting characters or stories, and he uses topics that need to be handled with respect and care as plot devices. Abhorrently, he uses horrible, traumatic events as some sick form of character development, but these events that are supposed to cause character development cause none of the aforementioned at all. All of these characters are more static than a broken television, and have the same amount of flavor as a single slice of white bread. I also hate all of them. He has been given every opportunity to improve, but refuses criticism, one of the main things that helps a writer grow. I value criticism above all else as a writer, and without it and the practice at my craft, I would not be where I am today.

Also, Greggy-poo, if you do see this, you can’t get this review taken down. You can’t do shit. Because this is transformative content since it’s commentary. I am adding my own insight into this, and making it into something new, and it is therefore protected by fair use. And I’ll just keep on posting. 

Whatever. I’ll see you later.

—Kat

[survey--s]

421.

~HABiTS~

Do you tend to speed when you drive? Not on purpose, but it definitely happens. We have a lot of roads round here that go from 40 to 30 then back again in a short space of time and it’s easy to lose track lol.

Do you smoke cigarettes? Not anymore, but I did smoke occasionally as a student.

Does your temper flare a lot? I wouldn’t say so, but I am easily irritated.

Do you get emotional easily? Yes. Not outwardly, though.

Do you get obnoxious when you’re drunk? No, I don’t think so.

Which shoe goes on first? Whichever is closest I think.

Are you lazy? No. I enjoy lazy days and downtime but not at the expense of getting stuff done. I still walk the dog, do housework and keep the house clean etc.

Name one thing you do that people always tell you about. Talk to animals like they’re people.

Are you superstitious? No.

Do you get bored with relationships quickly? No.

Can you sleep without blankets covering you? I CAN, but I’d never choose to. I love being covered and feeling cosy under blankets.

What position do you sleep in? Normally curled up on my side, but sometimes I sleep on my back.

What do you do when you’re angry? Rant, or shut down, depending on the situation.

What do you do when you’re sad? Cry, wallow, watch sad films or listen to sad music.

Who do you call when you have a bad day? My mum.

-Y0UR ABC’S-

A - is for the last person that made you ANGRY. I can’t remember the last time I was properly angry, to be honest.

B - is for BEER you prefer. I’m not really a fan of beer.

C - is for do you have a CAT? Yeah, we have three cats named Layla, Toby and Purrlock.

D - is for can you DANCE? Not very well, no.

E - is for do you have your EARS pierced? Yeah, I have eight ear piercings at the moment - used to have more.

F - is for your best FRIEND. Michael.

G - is for did you ever watch GUTS on Nickelodeon? No, we never had Nickelodeon as a channel - just whatever shows were bought by ITV.

H - is for the last person who HUGGED you? Michael.

I - is for close your eyes.. what IMAGE do you see? Blackness and like, a zooming galaxy effect.

J - is for have you ever been to JAIL? Nope.

K - is for when is the last time you flew a KITE? About five years ago.

L - is for the LOVE of your life. Michael.

M - is for the last piece of MAIL you got. A parcel that contained Toby’s medication.

N - is for do you remember NERF guns? I remember them but I was never allowed one and never played with them.

O - is for do you OWN a car? I do indeed.

P - is for your favorite PASTTIME. Horse riding.

Q - is for do you like peace & QUIET? Definitely. I need at least a couple of hours to myself everyday just to maintain my sanity.

R - is for do you like the color RED? I love burgundy/deep reds.

S - is for how many hours of SLEEP you need to function? I can cope on none, but my ideal amount is 8-9 hours a night.

T - is for what TIME is it? 7.46pm.

U - is for what is UNDER your bed? Loads of Mike’s stuff. He uses under the bed as some kind of storage area.

V - is for what you did last VALENTINE’S day. I think we got a takeaway? We both worked though.

W - is for do you drink a lot of WATER? No. I pretty much never drink plain water.

X - is for have you ever had an X-RAY? Yeah, I had teeth x-rays three days ago, actually.

Y - is for the last person you YELLED at. Michael, but just to get his attention.

Z - is for have you ever watched ZORRO? Nope.

-RAND0M-

Who do you wish you could hang out with right now? I’m happy enough on my own for now.

Name one thing you absolutely can not stand. Bratty children whose parents can’t be bothered to keep them under control.

Where do you spend most of your time? Home or out walking dogs.

If you could fly, where would you go first? Somewhere hot and sunny - maybe The Seychelles.

What was the best vacation you’ve ever been on? All our skiing trips to Canada or the holidays we took to Italy.

Have you ever hit a squirrel when you were driving? Hmm, probably. They just run out into the road and it’s safer to keep going than it is to stop or try and swerve them.

Did your car ever break down? No, I’ve had a couple of flat tyres but otherwise I’ve been pretty lucky.

What’s your favorite thing to do on the weekend? Horse ride, sleep, watch TV, relax.

What radio station do you listen to most often? Radio One.

Pick one: Papa John’s, Dominoes, or Pizza Hut. Papa John’s, but we don’t have one nearby unfortunately. Then Pizza Hut goes second, and Dominos is last.

What is the longest amount of time you’ve been awake? 50+ hours.

What would you do if you found out the world was ending in one week? I mean, there’s not really much I could except carry on as normal, lol.

Do scary movies make you paranoid when you watch them alone? They don’t scare me, I just don’t enjoy them.

Name one thing you’ve lied about recently. I can’t remember.

What is the worst movie you’ve ever seen? Big Momma’s House 2.

Who was the first person to ever give you flowers? A boy named William when we were about six.

[scotty-wolf-lover1968]

I am asking this to see if anyone else experiences this when they don’t get enough sleep. I slept for like 3 hours tops last night and the physical effects of this are largely to my gut, joints and muscles. My stomach doesn’t feel bad, but it does feel weird and I don’t trust myself to eat food and both enjoy it and feel right afterwards. My muscles and joints are just sore all over. I’ve always experienced this since I was a teenager, sleep deprivation means my body is sore and achy.

Now onto the mental and emotional effects my lack of sleep had on me: my emotions feel like they’re on a hair trigger. I was crying a bit earlier over nothing, so I then sought out videos and music that I know would probably make me cry. Normally I can also be more irritable and just all around moody. Now, I’ve seen studies and the like that compare the effects sleep deprivation has on things like reaction time, irritability, and overall judgment to those of alcohol, but there are a variety different behaviors that one might display when under the influence of alcohol that people know, some people are flirty or goofy drunks, some are angry and violent, some sad or depressed, etc. and I’ve yet to see anyone else say similar for being sleep deprived. Can a lack of sleep make you moody? Not just cranky or irritable, but just less regulated with your emotions overall and probe to mood swings. Science side of tumblr, did my lack of sleep make it easier for me to cry? Am I an emotional drunk just from tiredness?