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#because none of them thought it was going to be so short for them
static-radio-ao3 · 12 hours
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@croptopjames // frat boy james in a very tiny t-shirt proves to be quite distracting when regulus is trying to study // words: 687
Regulus is just about to consider the pros and cons of repeatedly slamming his head into the desk when the door opens.
He’s holed away in James’ room, escaping the madness of his own dorm, where Evan is frantically trying to memorize human anatomy, and the library, where Regulus’ soul vacates his body one hour at a time.
James is a willing host, although he seems to have some trouble letting Regulus study. He had to send his boyfriend on a run to get some quiet, because James can be very very distracting when he wants to be.
Thankfully, Regulus has managed to make his way through a good few chapters by the time James returns and it’s for the better because—
“Hi, sweetheart,” James pants, sweat dripping down his neck, catching on the gold chain that disappears under the collar of his shirt. “Got some studying done?”
Regulus swallows dryly. His eyes catch on the strip of skin between the hem of James’ t-shirt and shorts.
His t-shirt. His very tiny t-shirt. His t-shirt that rides up when James lifts a hand to card through his sweaty curls and reveals more tan skin. Dark hair trails down his stomach and disappears beneath the waistband of his boxers, a path Regulus is eager to track.
There is cotton in Regulus’ head, static between his ears, not a single thought behind his eyes, only a continuous loop of JamesJamesJamesJa—
“Take a picture, baby. It’ll last longer.”
Heat floods Regulus’ face. “Shut up.”
“No, I’m flattered, really.” James lifts a hand and presses it against his still-heaving chest.
“Your own boyfriend ogling you is not a flex.”
“No, but half the campus ogling me is.”
“Only half?” Regulus mocks, bottom lip jutting out in a pout. He ignores the spark of annoyance he feels; James is just trying to rile him up, he knows this. But James is very good at finding Regulus’ last nerve and picking at it until it snaps.
Admittedly, the stress of exam week leaves him slightly more irritable than he usually would be, so when he asks, “Where is the rest of your shirt, by the way?” there is a bit more bite in his tone than he intended.
James simply shrugs. “Laundry day.”
Regulus’ eye twitches.
He turns in his chair again, eyes trained on the chapter he is currently revising. It is riveting stuff, something about Alexander the Great and his conquest of Macedonia. Except, the words swim on the page, none of them registering, but Regulus refuses to give James the satisfaction of— of— well, he just refuses to give James the satisfaction.
“Sweetheart…” James murmurs, voice low and sweet, tempting Regulus into looking up again. He’s leaning against the door frame, posture relaxed but his brow furrowed. Neither of them says anything when their gazes meet.
“You really shouldn’t be allowed out of the house like this, you know. It’s obscene.” Regulus’ voice sounds rough. It is not annoyance that makes the words gravelly.
“Are you mad at me?” James crosses his arms in front of his chest, the muscles in his arms bulging a little with the movement. He tilts his head in consideration.
Regulus scoffs and a slow smile spreads across James’ face.
“Regulus, sweetheart, are you mad at me?”
“Yes!” Regulus slams his textbook shut. “Because you’re distracting me! Again!”
The corner of James' mouth twitches. He says nothing for a moment, simply regards Regulus. Then:
“Wanna get it out of your system?”
The question has barely left his lips before Regulus is shoving the chair back, not too worried about the way it topples over onto the floor. He is much too busy tugging James’ shorts down, allowing a hand to trail up up up under James’ shirt and splay possessively over his abs while he swallows his boyfriend whole.
The next time James and his very tiny t-shirt go for a run, Regulus makes sure no one gets any ideas. A hickey on the tan skin of his stomach tells everyone that they can look all they want but James Potter is a taken man.
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marlynnofmany · 3 days
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The Indignity that is Hiccups
I leaned against the broom and yawned, tired in more ways than one. The mess in the storage hold was going to take a while to clean. And just because the universe has ironic timing, I hiccupped while my mouth was wide open. It echoed off the metal walls. Luckily for me, none of my alien crewmates were there to hear it. 
Or so I thought. A bundle of tentacles and a curious squid face peered around the doorway. 
I sighed, hiccuping again. “Yes it’s me; no I’m not doing it on purpose.”
Mur eased into the room, stepping carefully around the snowdrifts of flour from where a storage crate had broken. “Why are you making that kind of noise on accident?” He was carrying a bundle of something wrapped up in one tentacle, but seemed more interested in conversation than in whatever that was.
“It’s called hiccups,” I said. “I suppose it’s too much to hope that other species have to deal with this to-o?” As much as I tried to get the sentence out smoothly, I was betrayed at the end.
“None that I know of. So what is it? Some kind of compulsion?”
“No, nothing like that.” I went back to sweeping with irritated strokes of the broom. “It’s a muscle spasm that’s never been fully explained. It usually goes away pretty quickly for me, but it’s annoying. Much like this flour.”
“I bet,” Mur said, looking around the room. He uncurled his tentacle. “I brought batteries for the big gravity wand.”
“Oh, Paint just went to get some! Thank you. She’ll be back soon.”
“Good,” Mur said, wiping at the flour dust that was already settling on him. “Ugh, this is unpleasant.”
“Sure i-is,” I hiccuped, followed by an exasperated noise. “At least I don’t get acid reflux with the hiccups. Small mercies.”
Mur asked, “Get what?” as Paint arrived, wielding the big gravity wand like a broadsword.
“Stand back! Oh, hi Mur. These batteries are only half charged, so I’m going to clean as fast as I can!” As short as she was, she looked like a scaly child waving a grownup weapon that she had no business using. Which wasn’t entirely wrong.
“I am standing ba-ack,” I announced, taking my broom to the doorway where the air was clearer.
Paint gave me a sideways look, finger hesitating over the power button.
I sighed and brushed flour dust off my sleeve. “It’s a stupid human thing.”
“Muscle spasms,” Mur put in helpfully. “Apparently sometimes they come with acid?”
“With what?” Paint demanded.
“Not like that,” I hurried to clarify. “Some people get stomach acid splashing up their throat, just enough to hurt.”
“That’s terrible,” Paint said, concern all over her scaly orange face. “What causes it?”
“No one’s really sure. My favorite theory is that it’s evolutionary history, our brains trying to breathe with gills, but—” I paused for another hiccup. “—Pretty sure that’s not actually it.”
“Wild,” Mur said. “Here, Paint; I brought fresh batteries.”
“Oh, thank you! No wonder I couldn’t find them.”
That would have been a great time for the hiccups to stop, while the conversation had moved on, but no such luck. I leaned against the door frame and tried to breathe evenly.
Paint juggled batteries, finally setting the gravity wand on the floor to swap them out properly. After another loud hiccup, she asked, “What makes the muscle spasms go away?”
“They usually do on their own,” I said. “Some people get them for a long time, but I’ve been pretty lu-ucky.”
“Sure,” Mur said, picking up the old batteries. “Lucky.”
Paint stood back up. “Nothing makes them calm down faster?”
“There are a few things,” I admitted. “Mostly stuff to distract the person from paying attention to them, really. Drink water from the far side of a cup, get startled by something, hold your breath a long time. I usually just take a lot of deep breaths, and they go aw-ay.” I grimaced. “Not today, apparently.”
Something hard closed around both shoulders and yanked me backward into the hallway, to where open mandibles hissed in my face, surrounded by shiny black exoskeleton and terrifying faceted eyes.
“Ahhh! Good gods, Trrili!” I stumbled upright, gasping for breath as she released me with far too much smugness.
“You arrrre welcome,” Trrili purred. “Wasss that enough of a ssstarrrtle, orrr ssshould I find a nice hiding placcce to jump out frrrom?”
“I’m good; thanks!” I said. My heart was beating dangerously fast, but the hiccups were long gone.
“Hm. Disappointing,” Trrili said, dropping the hiss. “Let me know if you require further medicinal terror.” Then she glided off down the hallway on many quiet bug legs.
I shuddered a little. “Yeah. Sure. I’ll do that.”
Paint was wide-eyed, crouched to pick up the gravity wand where she’d dropped it. I’d dropped the broom too, and I hadn’t heard either of them fall. The batteries had fallen out again.
Paint asked, “Are you going to tell her next time you have those spasms?”
“Ha! No, I don’t think I will.”
“I might,” Mur said with a grin.
“Hey now,” I said sternly, bending to pick up the broom. “Don’t make me sweep flour on you.”
He laughed and danced out of range, and the three of us got back to work cleaning up with nary a hiccup.
I did sneeze at the dust, which started a whole other conversation, but at least they knew what those were.
~~~
The ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book. More to come! And I am currently drafting a sequel!
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ccsainzleclerc5516 · 2 days
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This Is Where You Stand With Me (part 3)
Pairing: Charles Leclerc x reader
Warnings: none
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Part 2 here
Y/N's pov
We flew to Spain ten days before the Grand Prix. Carlos wanted to introduce Sophie to his family, and since his family is in Madrid, the two of them decided to go there for two days.
It's Friday night in Barcelona and Lando asked me if I wanted to go out with him and the boys. Of course I agreed because I don't plan on being in the hotel room until Sophie and Carlos come back. Since Lando is the only person with whom I am closest, I asked him to wait for me so that we go to the club together. And him being the sweetheart that he is he agreed to wait for me.
A few minutes after I replied to his text, here he is knocking on the door of my hotel room.
"Give me a second!" I yell as I quickly throw on an oversized t shirt and some shorts on myself.
"Hello!" I smile from ear to ear and tilt my head to the side as I open the door for him.
"Y/n!" He shouts. "Your hair is wet and still in a towel! You haven't even started getting ready yet!!" He scolds me as he enters my room.
"Well I told you I just got out of the shower! But don't worry I usually don't take long to get ready." I assure him.
"Yeah, yeah sure. We'll see." He rolls his eyes as he throws himself on my bed.
"If your shoes touch my sheets, you're going to have a problem with me." I warn him and he laughs at my threats, but listens to me and takes off his shoes.
"By the way you look very handsome." I compliment him. He was wearing a short-sleeved white linen shirt and loose, but not too loose, light blue washed jeans. And of course two necklaces around his neck that fit him so well.
"Thank you, now please start getting ready so we can see what you'll look like."
"So? How do I look?" I ask him 45 minutes later as I pose in front of him.
"I-I.." He looks stunned, measuring me from head to toe with his mouth open. He's never seen me dressed up like this before and I must say I'm flattered by his reaction.
"I hope that's a good sign?"
"I'm sorry." He laughs nervously. "You left me speechless, you look beautiful."
"Thank you Lando." I blush at his compliment.
"Shall we go?" He asks extending his arm for me.
"Be sure I'll hold your hand until we get there because I don't wear heels very often."
"As long as you'd like."
It was around 10.30 p.m. when Lando and I arrived in front of the club. We didn't get out of the car right away because there was a bunch of paparazzi in front of the club and I was slowly starting to get anxious. I didn't feel comfortable being photographed and ending up all over the internet the next day just because I came with Lando. I didn't feel very safe either, and I surely didn't want them to spread any rumors about Lando and me.
"Are you okay?" Lando asks me because he noticed that I was squirming in the seat and breathing rapidly.
"Yeah, I'm just, I'm a little nervous. There's a lot of them." I say biting on my lower lip and he puts his hand over mine.
"Just hold onto me and we'll be inside in a few seconds okay?" He says and I nod.
"Okay."
The driver opened the door for us and Lando got out of the car first. As soon as he stepped out of the car people started shouting his name and the camera flashes went off like crazy. For a moment I thought about not getting out of the car at all but asking the driver to take me back to the hotel, but luckily the desire to have a good time was stronger than that.
"You okay?" Lando was so sweet checking up on me.
"Yeah, let's go."
I climb out of the car and keep my gaze down holding Lando's hand tightly with one hand and trying to cover my face with the other. It definitely looked like we were a couple and that's why the paparazzi immediately began to bombard him with questions.
"Lando who is this? Is this your new girlfirend?"
"What's her name?"
"Look over here! You two look great together!"
At that moment I didn't care about the questions or the comments, I only cared about whether I would trip and fall in my heels in front of all those cameras. About thirty seconds later, which by the way felt like 30 minutes, we finally got inside the club.
"I must say you've got a pretty tight grip." Lando says and I can't help but laugh at his comment.
"I'm sorry." I try to pull out my hand from his, but he doesn't let go.
"I don't mind though."
And so we continued to make our way through the crowd of people until we reached the VIP section with a booth where Pierre, Kika, Max and Charles were. As Lando and I got closer I felt that all eyes were on us. Before my and Charles' eyes briefly met, I caught him scanning Lando and me and looking at our hands. I wasn't surprised when I saw that Ava wasn't with them.
"Hello, guys." Lando greets them and I give Kika a hug.
"Hi!" I wave my hand and everybody but Charles, of course, greets me back.
The night went great, we danced, we sang, we drank, some of us maybe a little too much, but that's okay.
At one point we all left the booth and went down into the crowd to dance. That was by far my favorite part of the night. I was so relaxed and careless I enjoyed every second of it.
Lando was dancing with me, he'd spin me around every now and then while we were singing to spanish songs from the top of our lungs even though we didn't understand a single word. If only Sophie and Carlos were here, I'm sure it would have been even better.
"Are you having a good time?" Lando slurs. Out of all of us he drank the most and it was very obvious that he was wasted.
"You're so drunk." I laugh. I was a bit tipsy, but I knew when to stop drinking because I didn't want to get drunk. He ignored my observation that he was drunk and continued to bring drinks.
"Lando, you should really stop. You've had enough."
"Nooo." Whining like a baby, he pulls me into a hug and rests his head in the crook of my neck leaning his weight on me. You could see it was time to go to the hotel because his eyes were closing from tiredness. He could barely stand on his feet.
"Lando, your're heavy, we're both gonna fall down. Stand up straight please!" I say struggling to somehow hold him so he doesn't fall and brings me down with him.
"You're gonna knock her down you idiot." Luckily, Charles noticed the situation and pulled Lando off of me. "C'mon it's time to leave." He says to Lando who protested a little, but listened to Charles anyway.
"I'll help you with him." I say and we start making our way to the exit.
A car was already waiting for us in front of the club, so all three of us sat in the back seats, Lando between Charles and me. As soon as he sat down, he fell asleep. My feet were killing me and I couldn't wait to go to sleep, and Charles seemed tired as well. I'd say he was a little tipsy too, but nowhere near as Lando. He definitely outdid us all tonight.
Charles and i haven't spoken a word tonight and I didn't want to be the one to start any conversation in the car so the ride was quiet, but luckily short. When we got to the hotel, first Charles got out of the car, then I.
"Lando, wake up." I say gently shaking him by his shoulder. He just mumbled something refusing to get out.
"I would prefer leaving him in the car to sleep since he had to drink this much." Charles says getting annoyed at him. "Lando, wake the fuck up or I'm gonna leave you here."
When we somehow managed to get him out of the car, I held him by one side and Charles by the other and so we started to walk to the elevator. We entered the elevator and I pressed the fifth floor on which Lando's room was and mine was on the floor below.
"Does he normally drink like this when you guys go out?" I ask.
"Not really, this is the first time I've seen him like this in a long time." Charles replies.
"Really?"
"Yeah, maybe you are a bad influence on him." Charles says, but I can't tell if he was joking or what he already meant by what he said.
"Yeah, sure." I roll my eyes at him.
When we reached Lando's room, we barely managed to find the card in his pants that unlocks the room. I was a little surprised, but relieved that he didn't lose it. We get inside the room and lay him down on the bed.
"Fuck, I'm sweating." Charles says while stretching his back.
"Should we just leave him like this?" I ask referring to his clothes and shoes.
"Well, I don't know. Aren't you gonna take care of him tonight? I bet you were gonna spend the night in his room anyway." As the words leave his mouth, I feel as if someone has knocked the breath out of my lungs. I was shocked at what he said.
"Excuse me?" I was immediately overcome with anger and the alcohol coursing through my veins definitely contributed to that feeling. "How dare you say such a thing to me? Who gives you the right to insult me like that? You don't know shit about me!" At this point I was almost yelling and I didn't care about Lando sleeping because he was passed out anyway he couldn't hear a thing.
"Well you two came holding hands, he was all over you the whole night hugging you and dancing with you. What else can a person think?"
"Lando is nothing but a good friend to me and someone who I trust and feel safe next to when I'm here alone without Sophie and Carlos! And I don't look at him as anything other than a friend!" I continue to justify myself to Charles for some unknown reason.
"And you don't trust me enough to ask me if you need anything while they're gone?" He asks and I just can't believe what's coming out of his mouth. For a moment I wonder if I'm crazy or if he is.
"Are you seriously asking me this right now? How do you think I trust you or even feel comfortable in your company when you constantly treat me like this? Ever since we met, I've been nothing but polite and nice to you and you just keep putting me down for literally no reason! One minute you are nice, attentive and caring and funny and then the next you have some unnecessary rude comment to say to me, or you don't even deign to greet me, or even better you don't even acknowledge my existence! You're so pathetic Charles! I had such a good night, but you managed to ruin it, congratulations!" I almost run out of breath after my angry rant and I can already feel tears welling up in my eyes, but he got what he deserved.
"Why do you seem to remember so good all those situations? Why do they bother you so much if you don't care, huh?" He asks taking a step closer to me. I am irritated by his calmness while everything inside me is burning with anger.
"I don't know maybe because I'm a good fucking person who doesn't treat other people the way you do so I don't except to be treated that way from you either if I've been nothing but kind to you! And you know what else? I keep thinking how badly your girlfriend treats you because she isn't there to support you when you need her. I felt so bad for you for the Monaco Grand Prix, I even wished to comfort you when she wasn't there to. But the further I go, the more I think that maybe you are the problem, not her." I turn on my heel and head for the door, a tear escaping my eye in the process. I was fighting them back really hard and I'm furious at myself for letting him make me feel this way.
I leave the room, but he follows me outside and stops me by pulling me by my hand.
"Wait." He says.
"No, don't touch me!" I say yanking it away from his grip.
"Then why weren't you there for me instead of her if you wished to?"
"Because of all the things I just said. And why don't you start giving some answers instead of just asking questions?" With that I leave him standing in the corridor of the hotel as I hurry to the elevator and into my room.
part 4 here
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kradogsrats · 2 days
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Been noodling idly on something about Aaravos's tiddies chest marking for a while, and since @raayllum just did a big update/summary of the "Aaravos's heart is in the Key" theory... I thought it might be time to put my little thinky-thoughts out there.
In short form: Aaravos's Star primal chest marking is not a natural feature of Startouch elves. It's a brand.
In long form: My initial question was "why, if we have the primordial Star symbol associated with the Celestial elves and with Aaravos himself, would he then have the primal Star symbol front-and-center on his literal body?"
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None of the other primal elves have birthmarks or tattoos of the primal sources. (That we've seen. Runaan's might be on his butt or something.) "Actually, all elves are physically marked with the symbol of the primal they are connected to" would also be a very weird lore drop to have this late in the series. So why do Startouch elves have them?
Well, the answer is... they don't. This is a feature unique to Aaravos, and it's an important feature.
For give my heinous artbook page photos, they want thirty-five literal dollars for a digital copy:
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What do nearly all of these designs have in common? They don't have their dang tiddies out. We only see what would become the chest mark in the far right and teeny bottom second from the right designs on the second page. Note that in these designs, its nature as a hole or source of corruption is much more obvious—in the far right design, it's even spreading cracks or veins across his body in the same way that dark magic affects humans. (Thank god they didn't go with that single horn, though. The fanfics would have been obscene.) Either way, Aaravos's chest being constantly, readily visible wasn't a design factor until some point where it was determined that it needed to be, because of what would be there.
Furthermore, I'm convinced that Aaravos's design and the use of the Star primal symbol on his chest informed the design of the symbol itself:
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Look how much basically none of the unused ones resemble the final design. The one they chose is a total outlier from the direction all the other designs take, but it's also the one that works really well as part of Aaravos. It's the only symmetrical design, and it's simple and solid where the others are busy in a way that would interact poorly with Aaravos's already star-studded skin. (I did a broader analysis of the primal source symbol designs a while back, if you want more.
So Aaravos and the Star primal symbol were designed in a symbiotic way, knowing that it would be a prominent feature for him. Let's take a look at it, then.
In every official appearance of the Star primal symbol, from Rayla's drawing of them to Claudia's spellbook, from the cover of Tales of Xadia to the Mystery of Aaravos titling... the Star primal symbol is in the opposite orientation from the one on Aaravos's chest.
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Except in two specific instances: the book page with the Midnight Star poem, and the Key as held by the Orphan Queen in the flashback sequence:
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Both of which are referencing Aaravos specifically, and in a specific way—as the one who gifted dark magic to Elarion, and as a deceiving manipulator.
But it's pretty clear that Aaravos's chest star is upside-down. Falling, you might even say. It has also always been that way: we see both in the s1e1 intro shot of the elves preparing to cast the humans out of Xadia and in the much more recent s4e3 flashback sequences that it has the same orientation even before he's imprisoned. It's also there (and I'm 90% sure in the same orientation) in the s6e1 photo leaks (spoilers).
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This key element of Aaravos's design is a) not a natural feature, b) very specifically oriented, and c) has been with him as far back as we have thus far seen, to what we are generally assuming for the moment was his "fall."
So, in combination with the "something (literal heart or no) was removed from Aaravos when he "fell" and may be connected with the Key" theory: either in conjunction with or as part of that process, Aaravos was branded, on his body for all to see, with the mark of a fallen star. Then he absolutely owns it with his tits-out outfit, presumably out of sheer fabulous spite, and no one around him actually knows what it means—that he's a punished exile, a piece of himself or his power stolen and/or corrupted.
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h0lyfrypan · 1 day
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comforting satoru in the months after the night parade of a hundred demons. you are a former classmate, who graduated alongside satoru and shoko. despite being shot down for months, you persist on trying to comfort him.
mourning, character death, no dialogue, implied satosugu if you squint. ur both not ok. i wrote this because i rely on dialogue too much. it's super short!
Satoru had changed—there was no doubt. After the Night Parade of a Hundred Demons, something inside him broke for good. Both of you had quietly hoped Suguru would return, that somehow he could avoid punishment. That day never came, despite years of waiting, and now it never would.
You vividly recall the day your cell phone rang, breaking Satoru's usual pattern of self-reliance. He was a natural at almost everything he tried (it seriously was a piss off), but on the other end of the line was a broken man. He didn’t need to voice the words; you had an innate understanding. It was always that way between you two. You knew Suguru was gone.
Satoru Gojo had a knack for keeping people at arm's length. He was 'the Strongest,' and he didn't appreciate how you could always sense when something troubled him. Your eyes softened when you were alone, the subtle checks to ensure he ate, and your consistent efforts to reach out—through letters, texts, or in person. You knew his Infinity would hinder you, but you persisted. With every brick he placed to build up his walls, you were on the other side with your own set of tools; a determined demolitionist.
The period after was a blur. Was it days? Weeks? Months? Time seemed meaningless as you sat in the morgue with Shoko, the only other person who truly comprehended what Satoru might be going through—but she was mourning, too. After all, you were once classmates and friends. The way she chain-smoked in silence, her lack of words mirrored yours. Occasionally, Satoru joined you both, but he and Shoko only discussed business. He didn't engage with you- and Shoko just wasn't as emotionally attuned as you, and that was okay, you’d never hold that against her. Everyone plays different roles in this world.
It was a while before you truly heard from Satoru again. He had a way of presenting himself as fine, radiating happiness—especially in front of his students. He engaged with them, laughed, stirred up mischief, yet emotionally, he maintained a distance. It concerned you that no one else seemed motivated to try and reach him. Perhaps they weren't as naive as you, believing they could break through. His request for you to watch his house for a few days puzzled you. It seemed unnecessary; surely he could afford to hire someone. Nonetheless, you agreed.
His apartment was cold, barebones, and modern. It suited him—a man rarely at home. Just a space for sleep when he wasn't teaching or battling curses across the country. Old clothing lay strewn about, a few dishes scattered. The ambiance felt solitary. You wondered: was he truly living, or merely existing?
Hours passed, time an elusive, unreachable concept lately. Being here for a few days justified sorting his clothes into the hamper and doing some dishes. There was nothing better to occupy your time, and he might appreciate the gesture. While rinsing cups in hot, soapy water, your mind wandered. Perhaps if you'd been closer to Suguru, you might know how to help Satoru now. Maybe Suguru could have shared the secret, but likely there was none. Suguru wasn't you, and you weren't him. Their bond was special, something you couldn't grasp. That wasn't necessarily bad, though it felt so—Ouch! Your hand under the scalding water snapped you out of that train of thought (maybe for the best).
Cold water relieved the small burn. You searched for bandages around the apartment, not eager to rummage but forced by the forming blister on your finger. As you explored cupboards and shelves, thoughts circled back to Satoru. While tending to your wound on the couch, a question arose: did Satoru always feel this way? When 'the Strongest' is down, who's there to pick him up?
Grieving for Suguru lately made you furious. Did Suguru not comprehend Satoru's willingness to let him return? That Satoru would have done anything to anyone to ensure his safe return to Jujutsu Society?  Suguru's flawed philosophies often left you contemplating and upset. Blaming a dead man for everything was too easy, but unjust.
Surveying the showroom-like apartment, your frustration grew and you teared up. You weren't Suguru, you weren’t strong– but maybe you were strong enough to lift Satoru—if only he allowed it.
Satoru had convinced himself there was no one else. Back in high school, he accepted it. There would never be anyone like Suguru Geto—no one coming close to understanding the weight he bore. To be a weapon before a human, a tool with a face, a means to an end. Yet, you persisted. He detested (perhaps a strong word) how you saw through him, how deeply you cared.
In truth, he wanted that. He just wished it didn't feel so vulnerable. He wasn't meant to be vulnerable—or that's what he felt. He appreciated every ignored text, every rejected hug, every lunch left on his desk at Jujutsu Tech, but fear overwhelmed him. How did you see through him so effortlessly? How could he be sure you wouldn’t leave?
He resented himself for not letting you in. He wanted to, truly, but the walls he built didn't just bar others out; they trapped him too. Coming home to find you asleep on the couch, curled up, blanketless and tear-stained, changed something. Maybe it was your unintended display of vulnerability, the secluded setting, or his own exhaustion. The reason mattered little.
With care to be quiet, he slipped into his bedroom, retrieving the comforter from his bed—the sole blanket in the apartment—and gently draped it over your sleeping figure. Kneeling by your side, he gently wiped away the tear stains from your cheek. It had been a long time since he allowed himself to touch you, or anyone for that matter. His breath caught when you stirred, your eyes meeting his. For once, you were unobstructed by any blindfold or infinity.
Without hesitation, you shifted from the cushion, pulling him into your arms, guiding his head to rest against your neck. He loathed this—knowing you understood his unspoken desires, yet grateful he didn't have to verbalize them. This vulnerability was taxing enough. He reciprocated, wrapping his arms around you.
And then, he cried.
It felt awful, comforting, almost amusing. Only a few silent tears fell before he composed himself, easing into your embrace as best he could from their awkward position. He almost chuckled at himself—for all the fear he harbored about opening up, finding such reassurance in your arms made it seem absurd. Shifting slightly, he settled back on the couch, intertwining both of your limbs and enveloping both of you in the blanket.
As you moved to speak, he gently hushed you with a finger to your lips. You understood, as you always did—this wasn't something he wanted acknowledged aloud. Bodies pressed together, his head nestled against your chest, holding onto you so tightly it felt as though you might meld into one. He was utterly exhausted.
Time remained elusive, now for a different reason. Your fingers combing through his soft hair, the sweet scent of his shampoo lingering in the air. The rhythm of your breathing and heartbeats creates a tempo for this rare and peculiar intimacy. For the first time in ages, perhaps since high school, Satoru didn't feel like 'the Strongest’. He felt painfully human, finding safety in your embrace.
This apartment, that was never quite a home, suddenly felt like one in your arms.
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shady-tavern · 3 days
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Preview for "The Magic of Consequences" the April Patreon Short Story
(warnings ahead for temporary, implied child death and implied abuse. Please take care of yourselves)
*.*.*
See, the thing about being a witch was that people had misconceptions about your profession. They thought you were busy cooking soup made of eyes and frog feet, or bottling the souls of whoever pissed you off to sell them to monsters and demons.
And sure, sometimes you handled disgusting ingredients – some made you whisper 'ew ew ew ew' under your breath the entire time. And sure, sometimes you made deals with unsavory, strange creatures. And, yeah, alright sometimes you did bottle souls, but you had never cut off a poor frog's feet. Or plucked out someone's eyes.
The sad part was, despite your best attempts to polish your reputation, people rarely sought you out for good reasons. You had made so many health tonics at the beginning of your career, excited to go around and make things a little better, only to be semi-gently reminded by reality that you should have gone and become a herbalist instead.
But herbalists had little to no magic and wasting your talent for the arcane had seemed stupid at the time. You hadn't had the money for the mage schools growing up and when a hedge witch had found you spelling apples to turn your bully's hair a bright, ugly color, you had found yourself with an impromptu teacher instead.
By now you were used to being sought out for less than savory deals, people appearing in your shop with hooded cloaks and shifty eyes and overly-obvious glances around for any witnesses. The utterly unimpressed face you greeted them with tended to make them even more shifty.
More often than not you managed to talk them down from their really, really dumb ideas – like desiring to love-potion-trap a prince in marriage or robbing a barony – but the rest of the time people were too intent on their dumb decisions.
Everything had consequences. You had written that in big, big bold letters on everything you sold. You pointed it out verbally as well every time someone bought an ill-advised potion or spell from you.
"Why did I become I witch," you groused to yourself as you bottled a potion that made flowers smell like rotting corpses and beer-farts, because some asshole two towns over knew he wouldn't win the flower presentation competition next week with honest, hard work. What a loser.
"Oh, I'll help people, I said," you grumbled, stuffing a cork into the bottle and almost making it spill in the process. "Oh, I'll make people happy, I said."
You set the bottle aside and started to clean the cauldron when you heard the bell of the front door jingle. "I'll be with you in a moment!"
After cleaning up and making a face at something squishy that squelched beneath your foot – some things liked to bubble over and this potion had just been an all-around headache – you walked to the front of your shop.
A very young woman, clearly a noble considering the stupidly fancy clothes and jewelry, was waiting for you, peering at some of the bottles for sale.
See, nobles were trouble. Nothing but trouble. If the farmer wanted to take revenge on his cheating wife, fine. If a bandit wanted to conjure a storm for his robbery, whatever. If a miner wanted to steal jewels from his employer unnoticed, it was none of your business. 
You could deny those people whatever you wanted or grant them whatever you wanted. At the end of the day, they were just normal people who were more or less stab-happy.
But nobles? Ugh. 
They had mages in their employ to deal with many problems, Astrologers who could tell their fortunes, treasurers who ensured they could afford nearly anything they wanted and there were other nobles they were allied with. In short, they had power and if they showed up at your doorstep it meant they wanted things that their already impressive collection of options couldn't grant them.
Which was curses.
"I hear you're quite the competent witch," the young noble said and you eyed her warily. She looked like she was barely eighteen, it wouldn't surprise you if her wedding was in, like, a month or something. 
Nobles always got married to someone, last you heard, which made many lads and lasses, no matter their station, sigh and day-dream about one day being chosen as a spouse, no matter how impossible that dream was in some cases.
What, did she want to ensure her future spouse wouldn't cheat? Or had she been spurned and turned away in favor of someone else and now she wanted to get rid of the competition before she had to officially cancel the wedding? It happened sometimes and people really loved to gossip when nobles chose a different partner than their intended.
"I guess," you said, barely keeping a sour tone in check. This young woman probably wanted nothing good from you. Great.
You really should stop stocking healing tonics. For some reason, people always thought they would turn them ugly or give them illnesses or crooked dicks. 
The young woman frowned. "You don't sound very sure about that." She then pressed her lips together. "But no matter, you are my last resort." 
She turned to face you fully, her fancy dress sweeping dramatically with the movement and she raised her chin, proud and confident and it could almost hide the anxious shine in her eyes. "I need a curse."
Outwardly you nodded sagely. Inwardly you sighed so dramatically and theatrically that you had to bite down on the urge to whine like a spoiled child. You didn't want to do curses. Curses fucking sucked. But who were you to deny a customer? Especially one with both the money and the ability to make your life either better or a living hell.
Because, surprise surprise, plenty of the ingredients you needed for potions or spells did not come cheap. No one had ever bothered to tell you that being a witch in general was not cheap in the slightest. All the stories about witches in walking huts or in cottages in the woods had really set you up for disappointment.
"What kind of curse?" you asked and then pointed at the sign hung right behind and above you. 'Everything has Consequences' was written in big, big letters by a really fancy hand. 
You had even paid a fairy to make it glitter a bit. People liked glittery stuff, right? So far the glitter certainly had made sure everyone read the signs, but that was it. At least, the ones that could read did.
The young woman read it quickly too, then focused on you with more determination. "I need a curse that turns a princess into a monster."
Oh. Uh. That was...well, you could do it, but... "That's a very hefty curse, with equally hefty consequences," you said cautiously. "Maybe there are other ways to get you what you want? Maybe a temporary transformation spell? Perhaps something to pretty you up to catch a prince's eye, not that you need it, of course."
You were not in the business of selling love potions, because ew. Same with those annoying sleeping-beauty potions that required the asleep one to be kissed awake. Look, you were an asshole and you had cursed a couple of people already, but you did draw the line at all that non-consensual love stuff.
Even witches needed to draw lines somewhere.
"No, I need a curse," the young woman said, with a voice firm enough to give mithril a run for its money. 
You considered saying no, before you remembered all the reasons why you shouldn't. If you refused her you'd probably have to escape her wrath, uproot your life and settle down elsewhere.
You were lazy, though, and you didn't want to do that unless it became necessary. Besides, every curse could be broken and you'd just give this curse a really easy way to get out of it. You did that for every curse you sold, because you weren't asshole enough to leave people stuck in some horrible reality for years on end.
"Do you want the monster to be sentient or not?" you asked. In case she didn't, you'd make sure the curse could be broken by, like, drinking water or something. 
The young woman blinked, then seemed to perk up, looking suddenly eager. "I can decide what the monster is?"
"If you're willing to pay more," you said with a shrug. You were a good witch and curses, for as little as you liked to cast them most of the time, had always been your best subject.
You threw your health tonics a forlorn look, noting the faint dust that had started to gather on the shelves around them and a bit on the bottles themselves.
"I'll pay you anything you want," the noble lady said, her eyes suddenly filled with a hopeful gleam and a smile appeared on her face for the first time. It made her look even younger and you realized just how grim she had been previously. Huh.
You leaned against the counter to be more comfortable and reached for a piece of paper and a quill to write down what she wanted. The young woman was downright grinning by the time she had the curse tailored to her every whim.
"Wait here," you said, studying the list of demands as you ducked into the backroom. Thankfully, you had bought a couple of rare ingredients just a couple of days ago, so you managed to cobble together what you needed for the spell.
Fairy wings – not plucked, because again, you weren't that kind of asshole and a number of fairies had to molt their wings a number of times as they grew and some even every spring - wolf teeth and a griffin feather.
You carried everything out, the young woman watching curiously as you ground the teeth and wings to fine dust which you then rubbed thoroughly onto the feather. All that was left was the transformation spell that would complete the curse.
Dark magic flowed through you easily enough, the wood around you graying and the very air itself growing cold and hungry, like a drooling beast was gnashing its teeth, bright eyes focused on the tooth-and-fairy-wing-dusted feather. 
Once the spell was completed, your surroundings returning to normal, you put the feather into a silk bag and handed it over.
"Put it under the pillow of the one you want to curse, they must sleep on it for six hours straight," you told the young woman. "And remember, consequences."
The young woman clearly wasn't listening anymore, accepting the bag while she absentmindedly set down a pouch of coin. You started to count out the gold you'd need, since she had brought more than enough, when you heard the bell and the door closing.
Looking up, the young woman was gone.
Huh. Well, you weren't going to say no to all that extra money. You scooped everything up and dropped it off in a spelled chest to protect your most precious possessions from sticky fingers. That taken care of, you returned to cleaning up the backroom, especially the squishy smear on the ground.
A couple of days later you heard of the terrible curse that had befallen the kingdom's princess and how the wedding between her and some kind of far-away prince was off the table for the time being.
The thing with your curses was, the cursed one instinctively knew the cure the moment they got cursed. You ensured that, to give them the chance to go and fix the problem themselves. None of that 'someone must fall in love with you' nonsense. This particular curse could be fixed by seeking the nearest doorway, doing a little chicken-dance and clapping trice afterwards and et voilá, the curse was gone.
Easy-peasy. The princess should be back to her old self in no time.
You quickly got distracted by some asshole teenagers that wanted to buy itching-powder to prank someone and just as they left with a vial of the stuff in tow, a little boy hurried inside with tears on his face. He put down three copper, looking very, very scared and asked in a wavering voice if you could fix his dog, holding up a tiny and very weak puppy.
It was the first time someone had asked you for that kind of help. To heal. You grabbed harpy feather and reached out to rest your fingertips on the tiny puppy's tiny, feverishly hot head and the light magic spell you used felt like a warm embrace. As though someone powerful was wrapping their arms around you and the boy and the puppy with endless kindness and soft reassurance.
It was the most beautiful spell you had ever gotten to perform and the moment you were done, the feather turned to dust in your fingers, the puppy opened its eyes. It wagged its tiny little tail like mad and when the boy broke out into tears, it licked the tears away.
"Thank you," he sobbed and you gave the boy's head a few pats, resisting the urge to tear up yourself.
"Of course," you said, pretending like you weren't touched and glad and emotional. There was just so much dust in this stupid shop. That was all.
You gave him back the copper, telling him that he got the spell for free if he promised to take great care of the dog and to bring it to you if something bad happened to it again.
The little boy grinned, so relieved and happy you swore he was the reason sun shone through the window in that moment, before leaving with his puppy who looked perky and awake again.
You puttered around, restocking some things and you set the health tonics up by the counter, hoping that maybe now someone would buy them. 
When, a couple of days later, a merchant asked for a spell that turned all his copper to gold, you heavily considered getting 'consequences' embroidered on your clothes as well. But he really wanted the spell so you gave it to him and of course he didn't want to buy a health tonic.
You were sulking on your counter when the door opened and a very fancy young man entered. You resisted the urge to groan like a blacksmith's bellows. A noble, again. Nothing but trouble.
"Good witch," he said with a small bow, the fancy feathers on his fancy hat bouncing perkily. "May I trouble you for a curse?"
You waved grandly at the sign behind you. "You may. Please read the fine print." The very big, very bold fine print.
He did, nodding solemnly. "I hear you offer curses that turn people into monsters?"
He must be a friend of that young lady. Lovely. Now that you thought about it, you hadn't heard anything else about the princess. Was her wedding off the table for good? Surely not, she had to have broken her curse by now. 
Or had that noble lady pounced on the far-away prince instead and there would be a wedding announcement once a proper amount of time had passed to avoid rumors from spreading? Maybe the princess would go and marry another prince. Well, it was none of your business.
*.*.*
Would you like to read more? Would you like to check out other, already published short stories of mine? Would you like to support an artist so more stories can be written and published more often? Feel free to head over to my patreon and check it out!
If you'd like to read more of my other stories available here on Tumblr, give my Masterpost a shake! Every story is written with passion and love and I hope you have great time reading!
And lastly, thank you all so much for your support! Be it a patreon membership, leaving a like or reblogging with or without tags (and yes, I do read them all) or sending me messages, it all makes me so happy. It encourages me to keep going and it makes creating and sharing those creations with you all an absolute joy.
Truly, from the bottom of my heart, thank you. I hope you have a wonderful day, lots of love to you all!
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the-final-sif · 2 days
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In a period where we are seeing increasing levels of bad faith takes, particularly from right wing assholes/terfs/nazis/etc, I think it's time that people on the left learn about eating the red card. The best example I've heard of shrugging off fake power structures.
Transcript below the cut.
Mike: Sure.
Dan: Mhm. So did you say any of those things by the way?
Mike: Nope. I didn't say any of that.
Jordan: Maybe next time.
Dan: Interesting.
Mike: Maybe next time. [crosstalk with Jordan], maybe cnn can invite me on and give me a shot-
Jordan [crosstalk with Mike]: Next time you're on CNN, give it a try.
Mike: I will say all those things, but that won't matter because I'll just have not said something else.
Jordan: No it won't.
Dan: Yeah. Go on and say, just do a satanic ritual on air and see- see how he plays that one.
Jordan: That's where I feel like we're like we're at-
Dan: He'll probably ignore it.
Jordan: I feel like we're all in eat the red card territory. You know, like if somebody says, "Oh, you, you're, you lied about this." Just be like, yeah, you're fucking right. I did. And I'll do it to your face and your mom's face! Fuck you!
Dan: Is that, is that a reference to my story?
Jordan: Yeah.
Dan: Okay. I didn't know if that-
Jordan: That resonated with me.
Dan: I didn't know if that was like vernacular-
Jordan: No, no, for me-
Dan: Wow.
Jordan: Yeah, that story is stuck with me forever.
Dan: That's pretty sweet.
Jordan: I love that story.
Dan: So Mike, I'll give you the short version of this.
Mike: Okay.
Jordan: When I was a kid, my parents only let us play soccer because the other games were like, I don't know, not European enough or something.
Mike: Oh, sure, okay.
Dan: We, we would play and on my brother's team, there was this guy who was kind of a bad-ass. And so in one game, he got a yellow card and he ate it.
Mike: Wow.
Dan: And so immediately the ref pulled out a red card, gave it to him, and he ate that too.
Mike:: Yeah.
Jordan: Like- what do you- See, I feel like that's just such a great story of like, what did you think was going to happen? You thought that you would exercise your real authority finally. And the truth is you have none because I'm going to eat this red fucking card and then walk away. You're nothing to me. Yeah.
Dan: So that, in sort of the metaphor, that is doing a satanic ritual on CNN.
Jordan: Yeah, totally. Absolutely. Yeah!
Jordan: Oh, they say he does satanic rituals. Fucking- let's see if I can do one! If you think satanic rituals are real and you believe that I do them,then should I do one on TV? It should work.
Mike: Yep.
Jordan: So eat the red card, man!
Dan: Don't do that.
Jordan: See if you can summon a demon.
Dan: Mike, don't do this.
Jordan: Summon a demon, Mike. Mike summon a demon.
Dan: There's an angel in a, uh, pride, uh, devil month on your shoulder.
Mike: Pride demon month- gotta go out in my pride demon month shirt?
Jordan: Angel month isn't until August. You've still got a couple of days.
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ominoose · 3 days
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𝐂𝐫𝐲𝐩𝐭𝐨𝐳𝐨𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐲
Pairing: Jake Lockley x AFAB!Autistic!Reader Summary: Short fluff self-insert with Jake because fandoms gotta become cringe again. Also shout out to Bigfoot enjoyers! Warnings: None WC: 779
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“And so like, they weren’t even just screaming, they were vocalising! Phonetically they were forming words, like there was cadence to it, y’know?!”
“Mh hm.” Jake nodded, nursing the coffee mug in his hand, watching the short woman pace back and forth across the kitchen, her own cup of tea completely forgotten and abandoned on the table like many others over the ages. Poor things.
“And- And the University of Wyoming studied the recordings for a year! And guess what!”
The man was an expert at this, and knew well the question was rhetorical, there wouldn’t be enough time to actually get a ‘What?’ in there. Instead, he widened his eyes a little as he took another sip of bitter coffee, waiting expectantly for the next revelation.
“They said the noises were from lungs that were larger in capacity than humans! And it was an actual deliberate language!” The huge grin, wide eyes and shaking of her hands marked the clear importance of the sentence, this was not a finding to be taken lightly.
“No way.”
Coming home from a late shift in the cab, Jake usually would’ve poured a glass of whiskey, kicked off his shoes, loosened his tie and claimed the couch to binge some shitty reality tv. Sue him, it was entertaining to be invested in drama that was less world ending over godly feuds and more Becky's boyfriend kissing her ex. If his girl came to sit beside him and let him use her thighs as a stress toy, it was the recipe for a perfect night.
When he came home tonight to see his beautiful girl practically bouncing on her toes, hands stimming, actively chewing back a smile and practically bursting at the seams with some hot info instead, how could he not walk over and get his fill? After all, she info-dumped with more passion than any gossip the Kardashians could give. As her man, it was his solemn duty to share her burdens, even if that burden was her excitement over some Bigfoot evidence from some random American woods.
“I also heard that the area the sounds were recorded historically had a lot of Chinese settlers- and the vocalisations have a large resemblance to Mandarin! I mean that, like, implies the Bigfoot community only either cropped up at that period or something but, like, it’s still insane I mean can you imagine we haven’t encountered Bigfoot yet because they all speak Chinese and can’t understand us?” How she spewed so much without taking a single breath was a mystery in and of itself, those crypto-whatsits oughta look into that.
“Who’s ‘we’, bebita? There’s only one American in this room and that’s me. Stop trying to steal my guy.”
“Your guy?” The smile on her face grew, adoring that he entertained her info-dumps and enamored with his cheek, “Since when did Bigfoot go to New York?”
The Latino shrugged, completely nonchalant as he drained the last of his coffee.
“When he calls my cab to take him there.” The curl of his lips betrayed his own amusement and the short woman giggled as she bounced into his lap, hands patting his shoulders.
Stimming was still a relatively new concept to Jake. To him, he understood it as needing to shake off big feelings, good or bad, before they drowned you. He could understand that, feelings were a fuckin’ lot even to him, and he didn’t have autism (no matter how much his amor tried to peer review him, he’d dodge those accusations like he dodged the Avengers).
Seeing her stim to him, with him, over him, that was intimate. That coiled into his very soul, snug and warm. Knowing her feelings for him were so strong, so intense she had to literally, physically, manage them before they made her heart explode? It was literally impossible for the thoughts in his head to try and do some self-sabotage. No one could tell him she didn’t love him, not even himself.
That wasn’t even accounting for the obvious fact that she felt safe enough to shake her heart around right in front of him, with that beautiful smile too. She’d kill him before any bullet or cultist ever could, and he’d accept it with open arms.
“You think that Mothman guy and Bigfoot are amigos? Think they’ve ever hooked up?”
The light in her eyes when he casually sprinkled her other hyper-fixation in there, always making a point of showing he remembered each and every detail of her spiels, could lead him out of the darkest black hole.
“You’re weird, Jake Lockley.” Her giggle was girlish, high pitched and sweet as honey, “They’re divorced, actually.”
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jadeylovesmarvelxo · 20 hours
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Hi, if you’re request are open I was wondering if you could do one where yn is a total loner, has a resting bitch face and has a temper when needed so everybody (including hellfire) is terrified of her, everybody think she’s been in jail and crazy rumors like this but in reality she is just extremely shy and has a huge crush on Eddie. One day in the cafeteria Jason is picking on Dustin or anybody from hellfire and reader temper get the best of her and gets involved and since Jason thinks she a witch or something he immediately gets scared but so Hellfire but when Jason is gone yn turns into her shyly usual persona and mumble something like ‘are you all okay?’ and runs away blushing. Eddie brains gets short circuited from the interaction because he never thought you could be so… sweet and then you can go from there 🤧
...
Mostly everyone in Hawkins had a tendency to stay away from you, even though you had a few trusted friends you were a bit of a loner. Since you moved to Hawkins two years ago it had always been like this.
You also had a bit of a temper when the occasion called for it, a permanent resting bitch face, and no tolerance for bullshit. So rumours spread around the school that you had been in jail, kicked out of your old school or just plain bad news.
None of the rumours had any basis of fact. Most people didn't realise you were actually very gentle matured. It's just you hated bullies, fakes and idiots, and Hawkins was rife with them.
One person who you truly liked and you were nursing a crush on was Eddie Munson but you were way too shy to do anything about it. He was probably as terrified of you as the rest of your classmates were, the thought made your heart sink.
Maybe one day you'd pluck up the courage to talk to him but every time you thought about it, you would talk yourself out of it.
Fate decided to intervene in the form of a jackass by the name of Jason Carver, he had a penchant for bullying others he deemed as less than him.
His favourite target was Hellfire, never Eddie as he seemed to leave him alone. You were certain Jason was terrified of Eddie and his supposed satanic rituals in the Hellfire Club. Rumours you didn't buy into one bit.
Jason's taunts were particularly bad today. As usual Eddie gave as good as he got but Dustin, Mike and even Lucas got the worst of it. The longer you listened to Jason, the more angry you got.
Who did this asshole think he was? He seemed to think he ran the school because he was dating Chrissy, who was the sweetest girl you had ever met.
When Jason rounds on the younger Hellfire members, begins to harass them even more, you've heard enough.
"Oh shut the fuck up and sit down Carver, no one wants to hear your opinions" there's a collective gasp around the room, more than a few people nodding their heads in agreement.
"Excuse me?" Jason snaps and you stand up and stare him down.
"You heard me. Sit down and be quiet for once, your stupidity is showing" his mouth falls open and he decides to go in for the kill, or at least so he thinks .
"Oh Please, you've been in jail. What was that like?" You stare at him exasperated.
"I've never been in jail or kicked out of my old school for that matter. I just don't like bullies, which means I really don't like you" Jason flounders after this and promptly flees from the scene like a bat out of hell.
Idiot.
The rest of Hellfire gape as you turn around and go suddenly shy at their shocked gazes, "Are you all okay?" Eddie nods and then pulls himself together.
"Uh, yeah. Thanks" you feel awash with happiness at your interaction with Eddie and then leave, your heart racing and stomach full of butterflies.
Eddie's mind was racing. You weren't mean or anything like that, you were sweet and clearly liked him in some way to jump to his defense like that.
Suddenly Eddie was very intent on getting to know you better
🫶
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silverflqmes · 2 days
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hihi ellie ! i was wondering if i could request hcs with sugawara with a gymnast!reader (self projecting but i wanna see what ur thoughts on it are like <3) gn please <3 love u lots /p
໒⦂ 𝐆𝐘𝐌𝐍𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐇𝐂𝐒.
notes. hi hi luma, my memories of gymnastics and terms has diminished over the years bc i stopped at a young age, but i’ll try my best with this🫡
genre. fluff + crack
for @kurolumiis <3
koshi sugawara x gn!reader.
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⌗ sugawara definitely finds a way of balancing volleyball along with attending your meets ( i think this is the term.. )
⌗ loves to see you in your leotards all dressed up and sparkling, you’re like a shining star to him, certainly under the glow of the stadium lights<3
⌗ either made or purchased good luck charms for you to keep with you at any competitions you might have, especially if he cannot be there himself — but he tries his best to be!
⌗ should he have the time, he gets up extra early and prepares a nice meal for you to take with you if it’s an away tournament that he can’t attend, how sweet<3
⌗ your number one cheerleader!! i mean, have you seen him in the scene where he was like YAMAGUUUUCH, IPPON NICE SERVE!! yeah that’s him but cheering you on instead.. minus volleyball terms BUT DOES THAT SILLY MAGICAL GIRL POSE LMAO
⌗ he’s so proud of you out there he’s like YES THAT’S MY BABY OUT THERE SLAYING THE COMPETITION!! while holding a camera and recording BAH
⌗ helps you stretch if you’re sore and spots you if you’re practicing after hours and you don’t have someone to catch your limbs or prevent you from getting hurt in any way
⌗ SHOULD you get hurt, however, he’s got the first aid kit ready and you will likely get scolded for not being careful but it’s just him being worried about you cuz he doesn’t like seeing you hurt</3
⌗ loves when you attend his games, even if he isn’t on court 100% of the time, but y’know, appreciates it nonetheless cuz it displays you care for his interests as much as he does for yours
⌗ there was a leotard once that you were eyeing but was a little ( a lot ) out of your price range.. you had wanted it for your nationals, too, since you had gotten in — so sugawara surprised you with a nicely wrapped box once the results were in that you would be going, and it was none other than the leotard you were eyeing that day<3
⌗ out of curiosity, he asked you one day to teach him some things — i mean, the man can jump so high?? it’d be a shame not to try some stuff out..
⌗ and so you agreed to his request, finding it silly that he wanted to try what you do
⌗ it was safe to say that it was easier watching than actually doing.. and that trampolines made stunts MUCH EASIER THAN GYM MATS DID.
⌗ koshi still managed to do something from what you taught him, and albeit it a stunt as simplistic as running into a cartwheel going into a front handspring — it still warmed your heart that he took interest in what you do
⌗ it was also funny at times to hear him yelp cuz he was literally upside down for some things you had him try out LMAO
⌗ in return, after doing some much needed stretches to not have his body absolutely destroyed for practice the next morning, you had offered to try out his volleyball drills.
⌗ how hard could spiking be? ( if you’re short like me and aren’t the highest jumper — hard. but not as hard as blocking😵‍💫 although with timing it’s not as difficult.. )
⌗ it wasn’t as easy as it appeared from a distance, but it was still fun to do! a few sets later it would become a little more easier, and sugawara tossed in a way that was feasible enough for you to hit
⌗ brings you flowers on every competition, whether you win or lose he still brings them because you did really well out there regardless or the results!
⌗ just as he cheered for you during your meets, of course you also cheered for him during his like duh?? anytime he felt himself growing nervous — or the odds of winning had become close to zero, there you were lighting up his way<3
notes. that went a lot quicker than expected, i forget how easy hcs are LMAO but i hope you enjoyed luma<3 hearts to you from me /p and sugawara<3
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pov: matty taking care of you after a night of too much drinking
mostly fluffy thoughts but with some slight smutty mentions.
this was something i tried to write months before i started this blog just to see if i could do it. that's when i quickly found out writing full fics is not my thing, lol. nothing special, just a stream of consciousness ramble really.
warning: smutty thoughts if you squint, alcohol. grammatical errors, typos.
other bf matty blurbs & rambles here.
“c'mon, it's time to go home, love.” there’s this ungodly pounding inside your head, a confirmation that, yes, one too many pints were consumed this… evening? night? hard to tell, really. you have no idea what time it is or where you’re right now—all that registers is the warm feeling of his arm on your waist, leading you toward the exit of whatever this place might be.
the cold air bites your skin as soon as the door opens. wearing a short dress feels like a silly choice now, but he said you looked beautiful so that makes it all right of course. you lean into him as he drapes his coat around your shoulders, the same leather garment he's let you wear countless times before because he knows you love it so.
“okay, your flat's just a few blocks away. let's walk, get some fresh air. it will do you good.” his lips brush the top of your head before you both start to slowly stumble alongside the dimly lit streets of london. “i like it when you kiss me, matty.” he leans down to plant a soft peck on your cheek and for a fleeting moment it makes you wonder if maybe he feels the same way. just maybe.
walking never felt so difficult. perhaps it was when you were a child, but obviously you have no recollection. his arm around your shoulders continues to guide you as you just focus on placing one foot in front of the other until you reach your destination. it was a fast trek but you don't mind. in fact, you are thankful for it.
“don't think i’ve ever had this much trouble openin’ a fuckin’ door.” none of the keys seem to work, ugh. he chuckles behind you (rude) and grabs them from your shaky hands, unlocking and swinging the door open with ease (show off). you try to walk on your own, but it doesn't quite go as planned as you stumble on the mat right behind the entrance.
"shit, are you alri—“ you cannot help but quietly laugh at yourself and the embarrassing situation you're in, and it catches you by surprise when he picks you up, one arm under your knees and the other one around your waist. he gently places you on the green couch so you're finally sitting down, your drunk mind spinning as you gaze at the boy kneeled down in front of you, working on getting the patent heels off your feet.
“m’sorry you have to see me like this.” for a split second you wonder how it happened, how did you get to this state, but quickly realize that’s too much thinking for your clouded mind to process. you’ll figure it out later. it’s not often you get flat out drunk, especially outside the confine of the four off-white walls you call home. you prefer to drink in your flat as you don't like the thought of making a fool out of yourself in front of others. much like right now. oh well. it probably won't be the last time.
with your shoes off now (thank you, matthew), you slowly stand up and somehow manage walk over to your bedroom successfully without tripping over your feet. you sit down on the floor, facing your full length mirror as you take your earrings off and try to undress. “matty?” you attempt to reach the zipper on the back of your black dress, but your limbs just can't seem to bend far enough “please help me take this bloody thing off!” you give up after a few seconds and get distracted by the red marks on your knees from where you fell just a few minutes ago.
“hold on, darling."
you lazily stare back at yourself in the mirror as matty walks through the room to set a glass of water on the bedside table. he takes a few steps and kneels behind you, fumbling his fingers to undo the pesky zipper. it's maybe the alcohol in your system or some wishful thinking, but you seem to notice a blush on his cheeks when he realizes you aren't wearing a bra as the straps of your dress fall to the sides. for a moment you catch his eyes gazing at your reflection, making you smile as a warmth, familiar sensation in your navel continues to grow.
a smile of his own tugs at the corner of his lips when he holds your elbows to raise you up on your feet, your silk dress sliding and pooling at your ankles in the process. he turns you around so your eyes finally meet, big brown loving eyes looking straight at you.
your head finds his chest, you can hear his gentle heartbeat, a soft repeating thud that you never grow tired of. "i think i could jus' fall 'sleep right here..."
“unfortunately, i don’t think that’s really going to work here, love. c'mon, get your arms up so i can put this shirt on.” you obey by raising your flimsy limbs up to the best of your ability while matty attempts to get the fabric on you. it takes a few tries, but he manages.
you now find yourself dressed in nothing but your shirt and underwear. you watch as he pulls the covers off the bed, getting your spot ready. once it’s set, he grabs your hand and slowly brings you over.
“please stay.” it wasn’t much of a question as much as it was a plea for him to keep you company.
he doesn’t argue with you, he knows better than that. he nods. “i'll just be on the sofa in the other room but let me know if you need anythi—" you shake your head. "this bed is big enough for you, too." you lazily pat the extra pillow besides your head. you get scared as he doesn't say much, but you breathe again once he starts to walk over in your direction, lifting the covers and making himself at home next to you. he doesn't bother getting undressed, but maybe that's best for your (and his own) sake.
you rest your head on his chest, letting your body melt into his as your lids grow heavy from the mix of alcohol and exhaustion. “thank you for keeping me safe, matty.” you feel as he brings you slightly closer, one hand running through your hair while the other grabs on to your shoulder, his lips softly planting a kiss on your forehead. “always, darling.”
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roitaminnah · 5 months
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okay i'll bite,,,, but just so you know I am doing these sketches day of with zero preperation..... n e ways... stargazing....
also I re-read maybe I'm not all you thought yesterday (one of my faves) so a little of that too... for sleepover....
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halfabouros · 6 months
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Okay I was just forced to catch up on whatever the fuck Dreamsmp lore was, and I gotta say the only thing that ending has to be glad about is that it could've been a decent ending if it ended with the victims killing their manipulator and abuser, who by the way is so irredeemable that he's basically the Joker but instead of being unfunny even after declaring himself the best jokester around, Dream is just pretending to be a God.
But it went with 'Nuke blows everything and everyone up after Dream is revived and then the victims all sing happy songs with the one who abused and tortured them for years at this point" like fucking hell???
Look- I get the early stuff wasn't planned out or intended to be what it became, but they were actively writing lore by the time Tommy got exiled the first time. Like they absolutely were aware of how shit this ending would be, and it was all for a second server that probably won't come to be because Dream is petty as shit and most of the former members moved on. I'm pretty sure based entirely on what Philza said about QSMP (and Dream's meltdown over Quackity making his own lore based and multilingual server) that anyone who joined the QSMP isn't going to be on Dream's newer servers anymore, by choice or by Dream not inviting them. So Dreamsmp 2 or whatever isn't going to be a thing either forever or for a VERY long time.
And even if Dreamsmp 2 or whatever was supposed to be an entirely new thing, since all of them had grown since they were firsts in the Dreamsmp, the ending STILL wouldn't have been a good ending! It honestly makes stuff like Game of Thrones and Danny Phantom and Voltron's endings seem like Shakespeare himself thought them all through! It's salt in the wound and is dumb. The entire point of not seeing Dream's POV was so nobody would sympathize with the mass murdering, terrorist, torturer who stalked and harassed and abused a child because the Child stole something of Dream's and Dream's friends liked him. That was it, the entire reason for Dream to strike down and hurt everyone.
But the ending says "Actually despite the fact I want to kill you over and over and over and over again and hurt you beyond most people's compression, I'm just a poor little babwyyy and you're evil because you wanted me to stop hunting you for aport :("
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tears-of-boredom · 6 months
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day 3: unnecessarily complex fit
ii gotta be honest, they were originally gonna have two feet but then i couldn't figure out the perspective of their right one so i decided to just not draw it
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#im aware that its the 13th but i wanted to draw this prompt.. and im like real happy with how this turned out..#could not make myself do shadows because what the fuck are light sources even..#and and i made a silly brush specifically just to use for the texture in this because i thought it would be funny..#yeah and um dont ask the logic behind the color scheme.. i honestly dont think about that shit ever#i just pick colors and go with the flow. you will NOT catch me practicing color theory..#and um yeah..#oh once again i made the smallest things too detailed. so they stand out much more than they're supposed to..#the nose piercing i was able to dial back. but the choker just is like that. and it stands out way too much..#also really appriciate that the shorts look alright because i had no fucking clue what was going on there..#i put off figuring them out for so long that they only made sense once i put the texture on them. which was like one of the last things..#art#my art#cringetober 2023#um#digital art#oh and the background was a total accident.. i had filled the characters surroundings with white to make sure none of my notes and shit wer#visible. and id forgotten about it.. so then when i changed the background color. it basically looked like that already.#i just tweaked it a bit..#tbh im quite glad it happened so because ii struggle with balancing the background between too distracting and a void..#the colors are so fucked for everyone else probably because ive fucked with my monitors gamma levels a lot#basically overall saturation is supposed to be higher. and mainly the dark green is supposed to be a bit more blue-ish..
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bumblingbabooshka · 2 years
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Was trying to design a telepathic alien child that is the embodiment of ‘kills you with my mind’ - and I succeeded! So here’s my daughter, Jeepers!
Alt Color(?)
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#My main design influences were 50's sewing guides on pinterest - Jake Sisko - and The Jetsons#This alien telepath child with the urge to hurt others is me fulfilling a promise (by which I mean random post) I made a while ago#saying I wanted to give Tuvok and Lon Suder a violent girl ward - so here she is v_v#her race does not have arms! Nothing bad happened to her arms - she was just born like that as are all her people#My thought is that Jeepers was abandoned on a planet by her people and the shock/trauma of that abandonment + having no one to guide her#led to her basically taking over that planet and banning all adults from it as she views adults as untrustworthy and terrible!#When any ships with children aboard enter into the planet's air space she uses her powers to disorient/distract the adults and sends#her little army of children aboard the ship to cause havoc and bring whatever children were on it back down to the planet#the planet is full of crashed ships because if anyone tries to go down to get the children back she disorients them enough to crash the ship#I have an entire episode idea but long story short is that Tuvok - the ultimate dad - fights through all attempts to scare him away in order#to rescue the children - and when he sees that their attacker actually IS a child herself he wants to help her as well#and she desperately probes his mind for the hatred/anger/fear she's felt from all the other adults but finds none#and then she cries and he picks her up and soothes her like any good parent would v_v#I think they eventually return her to her people! Tuvok and his telepath daughters whom he has to say goodbye to v_v#Jeepers cannot actually telepathically influence people to do things - she can only make them hallucinate but she's VERY good at doing it#however as a child she often has trouble keeping the hallucinations realistic or logical#which works for fear but not so much for trickery#also she'll bite you! So watch out for that#bea art tag#star trek oc#Jeepers#Her eyes go spiral-y when using her telepathic abilities#her people also age very slowly so she's probably pretty old in human years but she's still a child if that makes sense#like - say her species lives to be a thousand years old. 200 years old would still be a small child.#she remembers her parents being 'really tall' and when you ask her how tall she says 'outer-space big'#her name is from Jeepers Creepers by the hi-los:#jeepers creepers where did you get those peepers? Jeepers creepers - where'd you get those eyes??#How did they get so lit up?? How'd they get that size???? <- it's a pretty disconcerting song
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dark-magical-ships · 1 year
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-vibrates aggressively-
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