#flower jacket and fur coat day
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Blasphemous Rumors - V
“Marry me.”
He said it with such blasé that you weren’t sure you heard him correctly. Silence surrounded the two of you and he leaned down and tilted his head, watching you like a specimen under a microscope.
“Just for a year. A marriage of convenience. Consider it nothing more than a harmless experiment for the sake of curiosity.”
Il Dottore/Female reader with established personality. Slow-ish burn. Semi-enemies to lovers.
On AO3 here. Likes, reblog, and comments appreciated.
You peered out between the crack in the doors at the back of the cathedral. Every pew was full. Breakfast, what little you had of it, churned in your stomach. Your hairpins were too tight and you fought the urge to fix them.
The front steps were packed to the brim with common folk shivering in their coats and furs, eager to get a glimpse of you despite the bitter cold. Why would the inside of the church have been any different?
Everyone seemed accounted for. You had gone through the guest list extensively; it was far too long for your liking.
And it was far too late to back out now.
The high collar and long lace sleeves of your dress were soft, rather than irritating; you were right to have chosen the shop you worked with. Your final fitting had induced tears, both of lamentation and awe; you only wished you shared such a moment with anyone other than the Tsaritsa. Who were you to deny an Archon, after all?
She gifted you the veil that now covered your hair and face, as light as freshly fallen snow.
Part of you wished, hoped, that perhaps you might catch a familiar shape in the crowd. But as far as you could see, neither of your parents were present. As expected. Your father wouldn’t have been in good shape to attend, at any rate.
All that waited for you was a Harbinger, dressed in white, and the Tsaritsa beyond.
You rehearsed this for the past few days with the Omega Segment acting in its master’s place. The very act did nothing but weigh on your nerves like your boss weighed his mora. It was infuriating, actually, that Lord Dottore did not deign to show up to his own rehearsal ceremony. He had that luxury. You were required to appear. After all, you had no copies of yourself to delegate tasks to and you were the only one in the ceremony who would do more than just stand and speak.
Typical Harbinger. Others suffered while they reaped the benefits of their positions.
Running would get you nowhere except a shallow grave.
You agreed to this. You gave your word. And such a position would give you plenty of information to pass on.
The music started, the doors opened, and on beat, you began the long trip down the aisle.
Your grip on your flowers tightened as you went. The bouquet in your hands was a monstrous thing, flowers practically spilling out of it in an array of irises, cecilias, glaze lilies, and an overabundance of greenery. The florist had gotten far too overzealous and you wish you hadn’t been so tired during those meetings. Around you, the church was sparsely decorated except for the long carpet you walked on. All eyes were, inevitably, be drawn to you.
Brides were supposed to smile, you reminded yourself. You hoped your smile only felt tighter than it looked.
Lord Dottore was dressed in mostly white and, naturally, not without that feathery mechanical thing draped over his shoulder like a mink pelt. His mask was black with blue accents, different than usual mask he shared with Omega. The tails of his coat were accented with bright blue, matching his waistcoat, and it even looked as though he repurposed the usual dangling tubes into accessories for his suit jacket. Across his chest, a red sash, not unlike the Tsaritsa’s, denoting his station and affiliation. A bright and luminous aquamarine gem was nestled into a pin at the base of his throat, floating above a white cravat.
Despite the upper half of his face being covered, he did a decent job of appearing enamored: a tilt of the head; a charismatic smirk that passed for charming; a shifting of his weight as he fixed his cuffs. If you didn’t know any better, you might have believed it yourself.
As you approached, you realized his shirt wasn’t black but a deep blue, almost as deep as the midnight sky back home.
You caught the quickest glance at his sharpened teeth when he attempted to match your smile. It came off more like a snarl as you passed your flowers to an attendant and took Dottore’s awaiting hands.
You shared his sentiments. Your feet were already aching and the event had barely begun.
The Tsaritsa spoke of a blur of sentiments that, perhaps in any other situation, would have brought you to tears. Selflessness (impossible for the man before you), a reciprocity of compromise and challenge (only out of necessity to keep your job), sharing in the accomplishments of another (again, impossible for your future husband) were things that, surely, the crowd collected here knew to be absolute bullshit. Il Dottore, Second of the Fatui Harbingers, was infamous for his ruthlessness, his lack of humanity, unwavering resolution for knowledge at any cost.
Hell, you even severely compromised on traditions that might have added authenticity. Normal couples celebrated in Snezhnaya for at least two days; a marriage for a high-ranking military official would have warranted far more. Back home, it was still common to practice the tradition of ransom for the bride but that required your parents and you caught a muttered remark about the cost of your ring. Betrothal and Crowning were replaced with a simpler ceremony that would not insult the Tsaritsa while remaining true to Dottore's sentiments towards godhood (absolute bullshit, in his opinion).
He cared little for ritual. Ritual was nothing more than unsubstantiated nonsense to explain a world instead of looking closely for answers. So long as everything was legal, it didn't matter to him otherwise.
In exchange, both of you would instead endure a tour of the main city for photographs before the reception. Pantalone's idea. Of course.
Would anyone really believe the two of you were serious about this…
The Tsaritsa did though.
Didn't she?
You tried not to marvel at Lord Dottore's long fingers when he removed his gloves to exchange vows and rings.
His recitation was, of course, perfect. If he wasn't a scientist, you were certain he might have been a stage actor in another life. Dottore's touch lingered as he carefully arranged both of your rings and slid them home, ensuring they nested into one another perfectly.
Compared to your pair of rings, his appeared plain when you slid it on after affirming your vows in return. Then again, this union meant nothing and his adornments were always more about his rank and their functionality. An unassuming band of platinum suited him just fine.
Touching him was less a sparking jolt at the sensation of skin on skin and more akin to a burn, as if thawing one's hands in front of a roaring fire after a day in the tundra.
The Tsaritsa spoke again, giving closing remarks. You wanted to pull away already but there was little choice in the matter. Dottore's fingertips were curled into yours, the smallest amount of contact you could get away with already, and it wouldn't take much for him to decide that you weren't playing along.
"…your union will be sealed with a kiss."
Lord Dottore's shoulders squared instantly and you felt the tension run into his fingers, now feeling more like curled claws. Fuck. Of all things you had discussed…practiced, even (you stepped on his feet more times than you cared to consider and yet still had your feet). Had both of you truly forgotten…
The longer neither of you moved, the worse this was going to be. You felt expectant gazes and heard a soft wave of whispers. Convincing. This needed to appear true—
You let go of Dottore's hands and you were thankful that he took the cue to lift the edge of your veil. Disappointment sunk in your stomach as he kept his head as level as possible, preventing you from sneaking a look up his mask. You stepped forward to close the distance, cupping his cheek with your left hand before you tilted your head to the side and pressed your lips to his. Fluid, smooth, natural.
That was your role, you reminded yourself. It would take both of you to make this work.
His lips were soft, as warm as his hands (warmer, perhaps, you considered). As human as any other person you kissed before. You pulled away, catching a glimpse of his ears turning pink, before he ducked down and captured your lips again, finally back on track.
He turned his head to break the kiss but didn't pull away immediately.
"Quite efficient, Accountant," Lord Dottore whispered.
His words tickled your neck and threatened to send a shiver down your spine.
The closest you would never get to gratitude.
Touring the city was excruciating. In-between trying to put names to faces and track who was speaking to whom, you waved and smiled from the carriage window, thankful the gray clouds were holding off their inevitable snowfall. Every stop meant a photo, meant standing too close to your husband, all the while hoping you came off as shy and dutiful rather than stiff and uncomfortable.
The schedule left little time for breaks. You managed to nurse a glass of water, fix your makeup, and gather your remaining strength as an attendant bustled your dress before you entered the Palace Ballroom, arm in arm with the Harbinger.
If your husband was a different person, you would have pushed back on his insistence to get the first dance out of the way as soon as you were in the room. But you agreed with him and it was better to get it over with.
As rehearsed, you took your position, thankful all the while he had slid his gloves back on as soon as you were in the carriage hours ago. Bad enough you had to be essentially pressed up against him for this. You would rather eat glass than touch him again, especially if he was going to feel warmer than he truly was.
He smelled more pleasant than you usually experienced. The lack of viscera and disinfectant helped. This close, closer than you had been all day as he led exactly on beat, you caught hints of musk, along with sandalwood, mint.
Dottore pulled you flush against him after spinning you out, angling his head towards the crook of your neck.
"Relax your shoulders," he muttered. "You're resisting the rhythm and making this harder than necessary. All that convincing work earlier can be undone quite easily, Accountant."
"Is that a threat, my lord?" you teased, passing off a playful smile.
A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth but it didn't stay long. He was quiet in the carriage, professional. Other than his vows, he barely said a word to you all day.
"For once, not from me."
You schooled your face, instead resting your chin on his shoulder as the mantle's feathers brushed against your cheek. It was much softer than you expected.
What had you missed? Other than perhaps appearing, as any person might, a little weary during the tour, you had been nothing but polite and warm during any interactions with guests.
"Even one as erudite as myself knows to move with the music and the flow of the event. Stop thinking, Accountant."
You tried to ignore the slight squeeze of his arm around you; it was a little too tight to be assuring. Focusing on the music, a song you could hum in your sleep by now, you tried to relax your shoulders and hips and follow through with the sway of each step. The song ended; its final note was cut short by the sharp sound of knives on glass. You fought a grimace, realizing your guests were goading you to kiss again.
This time, the Harbinger was quicker, stealing your lips as soon as you lifted your head from his shoulder.
"Better," Dottore whispered as he pulled away. "By the end of this, you might even fool yourself."
You threw him the same smile and demure look as you did in the jewelry store and fixed his cravat to stifle the urge to punch him.
"Are you sure I won't fool you, Lord Harbinger?"
"I'd like to see you try."
The socializing took the longest. The Harbingers themselves, although never without a quip to throw, were civil enough. You led most of the conversations once the two of you reached the tables of dignitaries and nobles, Dottore falling back to either have more in-depth discussions or to observe, as he often did. Eventually, it was just you when he muttered something about getting air and you were determined to get greetings and gratitude off your plate before dinner.
Your head swam as you recalled every single face, every name, every seating arrangement. It wasn't that different from data, from account numbers, balances. No one would call you an extrovert by any means but the only thing keeping you going was the very knowledge that Dottore was not going to do it. Such things were not worth his time. Without his Segments in normal situations, he was protective of his time; now, it was your turn to fill in the gaps.
It took everything in you not to roll your eyes at yourself. Your duty was to the people of Snezhnaya and beyond. Your duty was your family. This marriage was a means to an end. You only played your part because if you didn't, the consequences were far, far worse than you wanted to consider.
You were partway through the final table when you felt a hand on your elbow and you saw everyone at the table straighten considerably, as if they were puppets ready to perform. Instead of any kind of introduction or pleasantry, however, Dottore turned his attention to you, his hold gentle.
"Dorogáya moya, come eat before your plate gets cold."
You felt your face flush at the use of the term, both at the familiarity and the double meaning. Over the last few weeks, you learned that he was not a native to Sneznhaya, as you were, but he spoke the language so fluently one would never know.
With a smile, you let yourself be taken to the head table, where the first course of many sat waiting for you. Your stomach grumbled at the sight of food. You'd been hungry since before the ceremony. Now that you looked, you noticed that the wait staff were well into bringing out dishes, carrying trays over their shoulder.
Funny that he would come find you when he left you alone to tackle the ridiculous social obligations of his station. Then again, Lord Dottore couldn't exactly have you fainting at your own wedding.
"So, I'm expensive, am I?" you asked, glancing through your peripheral at him as you took a long sip of water.
You half-entertained wine earlier but you needed your faculties and wits about you. Water was best.
"If time was a currency, yes," Dottore turned his head to you, fork and knife still poised on the plate. "Surely you can quantify how much of my time could be better spent on almost anything else."
"And surely you know how easily anyone could read into a Harbinger calling his new wife expensive as establishing an amazing matrimonial foundation."
Dottore tilted his head and raised a shoulder, a gesture you always took to mean silent acquiescence. If you could see his eyes, you imagined his eyebrows would be rather expressive as well.
“I never cared for the opinions of others, especially those who never had to try to improve their life, such as most of our guests who were born into their position. There is little reason for you to be anything beyond polite. It is those closest who must be fooled, not the rest of the country.”
“All it would take—” you hissed.
“You’re forgetting who you married, Accountant.” Dottore gave you what anyone else would have called a charming smile. “Unlike you, they fear me. Now eat.”
He needed you to cooperate but if he thought he was going to spend the next year commanding you around...arrogant, self-important, manipulative ass…
You kept your face neutral as you lifted a utensil, pushing away the thought of driving your fork into his leg. It was the least he deserved.
Flavor exploded in your mouth as you took a bite to eat. Any other time, you might have reacted beyond simply reaching for another forkful from your plate. The finest thing you tasted in months, years, and just like everything else, it was wasted on this moment. A moment you would never get back.
Funny how right he was.
Food helped. Each of you played the part of doting newlywed, dancing, smiling, laughing. You only ever heard Lord Dottore chuckle but never outright laugh. It was almost sweet, how genuine the sound was. Did he even realize it, you wondered, when the mask slipped and for a moment he appeared almost human?
Of course he did. Nothing would ever get passed him.
Except you.
If you made it out of this alive.
It was no secret that a Harbinger's station meant a certain quality of life. Estates of their own, entire wings within the Palace for work and for leisure. After all, the Cryo Archon only had her Harbingers to dote on, who else would make use of the space, you often wondered. Staff were well-compensated and taken care of but the stark contrast between your dormitory and living spaces compared to the soaring ceilings and marble pillars and gilded frames turned what little food you managed to keep down.
You weren't in charge of auditing the annual operating budget (that was exclusively for the Ninth himself) but you could estimate. More than what you would make in your lifetime thirty times over, probably.
The walk from the ballroom to the far reaches of the Palace was shared in silence. Exhaustion was woven into the very layers of your gown and by now face-planting into the bed, makeup and all, sounded like a wonderful idea. After all, it was not as if anything about this arrangement was normal and Lord Dottore himself expected nothing, he had been quite clear about that from the beginning.
He was impossible to read right now, even for you. Mouth in a flat line, shoulders back, arms behind him as he walked as if he were simply out for a stroll. Without the context of a common discussion topic, mostly regarding his funding, you couldn't tell if he was simply bored, exhausted, or annoyed. All three in a stormy cocktail seemed likely.
The rooms themselves were as lavish as the rest of the Palace. Opulent furniture that was dusted but never used filled the sitting room that you walked into, the walls lined with filled bookshelves. Floor to ceiling windows revealed the usual white landscape and the mountains beyond while projecting your reflection back at you from the illumination of a nearby lamp. Your bag, the singular container of all of your packed belongings sat on a sofa, as if discarded hastily.
Through a set of double-doors was a second private sitting room and the bedroom, as large as half of your entire dormitory floor. Dark wood, flowing lines, clearly hand-crafted rather than assembled on a factory line. Too many pillows on the bed.
Did he even sleep?
The only details the space was even occupied were the books piled haphazardly on a coffee table, on a bureau, scraps of paper and blueprints scattered but clearly organized in a way that made sense to someone. A coat strewn across a couch arm. Mechanical parts and a small set of tools on a table where one might ordinarily hold a private dinner party.
You caught sight of a large closet and beyond it, a washroom, each room with their own set of double-doors to close the space off. For a man as arrogant as Il Dottore, perhaps even vain (after all, who made clones of themselves if they weren't?), you expected far more clothes and shoes. His budgets rarely, if ever, accounted for clothing unless it was for a specific occasion but that didn't mean much. And you doubted he would have made room for your pitiful amount of belongings.
On one side of the closet was a large three-way mirror, the kind you dealt with at the seamstress, complete with a platform. Obnoxious. This felt out of place compared to the amount of space in the closet itself. Unless, of course, he did his own tailoring or a Segment did. Would explain the lack of receipts and mentions of it for his budget reviews.
You locked eyes with your own reflection and saw where your make-up was thinning, how your hair had finally succumbed to the weight of the product in it. No matter how hard you tried to keep your eyes open, they seemed to have minds of their own; you were beyond tired at this point.
And the dress was finally taking its toll. The lace was scratchy and the corset was digging into you. Without thinking, you finagled your feet and removed your heels without bending over. You closed your eyes, instantly relieved at the sensation of your heels sinking into the carpet. The pain was still there but it nice to be on even ground again.
Your eyes snapped open when you felt slight tugging on the buttons of your dress and it took everything in you now to jump, nerves frayed and split. Dottore looked up from behind you, mask still in place, and you could only presume he was making eye contact. Harder to determine without facing him.
"Don't tell me you expected to reach every single button yourself, Accountant," he sneered.
"More like I didn't think you would help. Not without prodding."
Dottore scoffed as he undid the buttons running the length of the dress and loosened the back stays of your corset. He tugged slightly at your dress' sleeve but not enough to reveal your shoulders. Never once did you feel the brush of his gloved hands on your skin.
Dottore stepped back when he finished, your gaze remaining fixed on his mask.
"Polite for a man who stepped foot into my office covered in blood on more than one occasion," you remarked.
You were graced with the wide, vicious smile you knew so well, sharpened teeth gleaming.
"Go wash up, you smell like you wandered through a florist's nightmare."
He nodded his head in the direction of the bath but made no attempt to leave the dressing room. You held back a grimace as a sound of disgust escaped your lips.
"You have such a charming demeanor, Lord Harbinger."
You gathered up your dress and entered the bathroom before he could remark further, shutting the doors behind you with the resounding clicks of the latch and lock.
The bathroom was tiled and just as ornate as the rest of the rooms: a large vanity with more counterspace than you ever saw in the dorms; a water closet for the toilet; a standalone shower; a tub that stood on its own feet and looked as if it was intended for at least two people, maybe more. You were beginning to think there was no in-between in the Palace; either everything was utilitarian and functional or overly-decorative and wasteful of resources.
Here too, you could only see a smattering of personal effects. Signs the room was occupied but not necessarily used. Curiously, you picked up a bottle and read the label once, twice, and then again, realizing it was actually some kind of acid and not a mouth rinse solution. Whoever brought your things over from your dorm had at least been insightful enough to unpack your toiletries and you were thankful you would not risk burning off your scalp to wash your hair.
Just as you were rummaging around for your things, you noticed a bundle wrapped in soft tissue on a chair near the door. Weird. Was this for you?
You removed the rest of your jewelry and tugged gently on the lace sleeves, the upper body of the dress coming free without further resistance. You stepped out of the dress, arranging the pile of tulle and lace neatly nearby before turning your attention back to the small package.
Gently, you pulled apart the paper. From the pile of cloth, you plucked the top piece and held it up, frowning. It left little to the imagination. Same for the other half. On the bottom was, you presumed, what was meant to be worn over the lingerie, made of the same fabric with a small bow on the back and ruffles on the hems.
To the credit of whoever put it there, it was very fine material. The kind that was befitting of your newly acquired station. Lace this soft and sheer was painstaking to make and couldn't be machine-replicated.
There was no note in the packaging.
Lord Dottore held no expectations, you reminded yourself. Had a servant put this here? If so, on whose behalf?
You put the lace back down and ran the shower, adjusting the water as you ran through scenarios in your mind.
Was Dottore testing you? Could he have only said such a thing to get you to agree? If he'd changed his mind, it would have been more prudent to tell you. On the other hand, telling you would allow you to prepare and he wasn't in the habit of allowing anyone, subject or not, to have time to skew results. Plausible enough.
Or perhaps Pantalone, in his ever-insistent and nosy nature, had this planted here? Considering the state of your ring situation, this was also viable. He wasn't above planting evidence, arranging scenarios so they worked in his favor without fail. From Lord Pantalone's perspective, Dottore acquiring a wife so soon after their deal was struck would have been immediately suspicious and potentially short-sighted, subject to various tests of his own...
Maybe it was neither and a servant or even a Segment thought the notion would be funny.
But it was too expensive for that. No one paid that much mora on something without a purpose…or at least, most people didn't. Your boss was, as always, the worst exception.
You stepped into the shower, ridding yourself of your makeup and perfume and the rest of the day's trappings.
As you stepped out of the shower, feeling at least a little more human, your stomach sank.
In your frustration with Dottore, you never grabbed a change of clothes.
Because your bag was in the sitting room.
Your heart squeezed as you lamented your poor planning. Really? At this rate, you would be found out. How the hell could you possibly think this was going to work when you didn't even grab your things and put them in the closet?
Why hadn't the one responsible for the task done that? That just made sense!
You could walk out in a towel, go grab your things, and make it even more obvious that you were only doing this because, perhaps, you might get better intel.
And while Lord Dottore wouldn't care about any of that, was it really necessary to make a show of how much you didn't want to show skin around him? No.
He thought well enough of your professionalism. And part of that would be embracing the role you were supposed to play. If a servant were to see you not in lingerie as befitting a wedding night, but in drab pajamas…whispers usually spread like wildfire on a good day.
You dried your hair as best you could, freshened up, nestled the lace against your skin. While you weren't used to the cut of certain things, it wasn't uncomfortable per se. Altogether, it was quite lovely.
Another thing wasted on the wretch in the other room.
When you stepped back into the bedroom, you found Lord Dottore laying on the bed, covers pulled back as he scribbled into a book. Even now, his mask was still present. His hand stilled and he turned his head to you briefly to acknowledge your presence before he went back to what he was doing.
Steeling yourself, you crossed the room, crawled onto the bed, and straddled him. He hadn't changed at all, only bothering to remove his jacket, cravat, and waistcoat. Deftly, you grabbed the book from his hands and tossed it to the floor to force him to look at you. He was solid and warm beneath you, the same as any other, and you tried not to think of how little separated the two of you, how bare you were under the lace.
Dottore tilted his head, lips pulling into a smirk for a moment before it spreads into a full-toothed grin, his hand reaching for and gripping your thigh.
A leg wrapped around yours and you met the bed quicker than you expected to, soft sheets and a firm mattress under you. You blinked, Dottore's grinning face above you, never far from reach. You felt a hand ghost over your side, your breast, your collarbone, before it settled on your neck, caressing your pulse point. Despite your proximity, you never felt him press against you, not even when he brushed his lips over your cheek, where the faintest scar remained.
"I hardly you know, my dear. Besides, I already told you that I have no expectations beyond those in public. Such acts between us are quite unnecessary," he said.
Dottore rubbed his thumb up and down the column of your neck before he angled his head so his lips were near your ear.
"Unless, of course, you're simply needy enough to put yourself in the maw of a wolf so easily for a quick reprieve. You never struck me as the sort but I suppose there's a first time for everything."
Heat flooded your cheeks at the insinuation but before you could protest, the Harbinger rolled off of you and out of the bed. He bent down, picked up the book, and made his way to the door to the sitting room. For a moment, Dottore looked at the leather-bound cover in his hands before he turned his attention back to you.
"There is little need for someone as lovely as you to give more than is asked to a monster such as myself. We leave at daybreak."
Oh. Right. Honeymoon. He took care of that and you still had no idea where you were even going.
Without another word, the doors shut, leaving you alone in the large bedroom. Light bled in through the bottom of the doors. No doubt he would be awake a while longer.
You clutched at the bedspread, embroidered with silk and stuffed with down. It gave easily under your hands, as such soft feathers often did, providing nothing substantial to squeeze. You weren't insulted or even hurt, as many others in your position would have been. Confused, certainly, but your ego was intact.
Seduction wasn't precisely a skill you practiced. Numbers told stories in unique variations and patterns and provided more consistency than people. People were unpredictable. Il Dottore especially.
You fell asleep, wondering when all of this would come back to bite you.
#fic: blasphemous rumors#dottore#il dottore#dottore x reader#il dottore x reader#female reader#il dottore/female reader#dottore x female reader#marriage of convenience
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"I was pretending that I did not speak their language; on the moon we spoke a soft, liquid tongue, and sang in the starlight, looking down on the dead dried world." (We Have Always Lived In The Castle – Shirley Jackson, 1962)
the 1960s were also known as the swingin' sixties, and that name could not be more appropriate. while some other decades had moved towards comfort, the 1960's truly embraced it. some of the youth simply threw on a tunic and stepped into some pants and walked out the door! the popularity of television broadcasted different styles and trends across the country and the world. new materials like acrylics and polyesters were cheap to produce and to buy, and made fashion more accessible than it ever had been. the swingin' sixties brought the youth miniskirts, striped sweaters, the boxy "mod" look, and the bright, fun makeup associated with famous artists like twiggy. some older women tended towards the skirt + suit jacket combination worn by first lady jackie kennedy, but the comfort of the youth was appealing to all ages. beatnik fashion was also popular, with trim black trousers and dark sweaters. in 1964, hairspray was the most popular beauty product on the market – and it showed in the elaborate updos of the era. as the decade drew to a close, the "hippie" style was a popular look among the youth, with loose fitting tops and baggy pants, as well as maxi skirts. many of the hippies incorporated crafts into their fashion, with patchwork and beadings becoming popular.
this is only a very brief summary – the trends and influences of the 1960s are vast and complex, just as the 1960s themselves were. the social revolutions mirrored the revolutions in fashion, and i could write essays about it. but i am tired and i moved in today.
1800’s / 1900-1909 / 1910-1919 / 1920-1929 / 1930-1939 / 1940-1949 / 1950-1959
cc links under the cut!!
see my resources page for genetics
rachel : birksche's pam hair / fuckyeahunbichobolita's valentines dress / laundry day socks / renorasims' not so flat flats
remington : cats and dogs hair / dissia's retro fur coat accessory (tsr download) / get famous outfit / discover university socks / linzlu's 1960's shoes (download here)
rhiannon : buzzardly28's linda hair / needleworkreve's 1960s eyeshadow / gilded-ghosts' simply sweet dress / blueraptorsden’s vintage stockings / paranormal shoes
river : jools-simming's deborah beret / simadelics' curtain call hair / cottage living sweater / linzlu's 1960's pants (download here) / base game stockings / get together loafers
rjúpa : historysims4's 1960's coiffure / needleworkreve's 1960s eyeshadow / nords' retro reboot 60's hoop earrings (tsr downloads) / dzifasims' daisy dress / base game stockings / linzlu's 1960's shoes (download here)
roxanne : simduction's karen hair (updated by cyclopfrog) / fukkiemon's star pin / georgiapeachsims' mod madness makeup / get together outfit / base game bracelets / renorasims' leather wedge boots
ruslana : ravensim's terri hair / needleworkreve's 1960s eyeshadow / cottage living earrings / happylifesims' short one piece with scarf / get famous socks / serenity-cc's back to the sixties shoes
r'veena : kismet-sims' rosemary hair / needleworkreve's 1960s eyeshadow / get famous earrings / mysteriousoo's bright pants + tunic set (tsr download) / jius-sims' flower mary jane pumps
ryan : simduction's twiggy hair (updated by cyclopfrog) / needleworkreve's 1960s eyeshadow / liliili-sims' earrings #19 / marsmerizing-sims' lesley sweater / linzlu's 1960's skirt (download here) / base game stockings / cottage living lace-up heels
rzenia : marsosims' hita hair / brianitesims' nicks sunglasses / paranormal top / huiernxoxo's roxy pants / jius-sims' retro flower boots
thank you to @birksche @fuckyeahunbichobolita @renorasims @dissiasims @linzlu @buzzardly28 @needleworkreve @gilded-ghosts @blueraptorsden @jools-simming @simadelics @historysims4 @nords-sims @dzifasims @simduction @fukkiemon @georgiapeachsims @ravensim @happylifesimsreblogs @serenity-cc @kismet-sims @jius-sims @marsmerizing-sims @marsosims and @huiernxoxo !!
#my sims#sims 4 lookbook#ts4 lookbook#ts4lookbook#sims 4 retro lookbook#ts4 retro lookbook#sims 4 1960s lookbook#ts4 1960s lookbook#223 years#historical#1960s
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Cycle (Kiba x Reader)
Request:
Word Count: 1.5k
Tags/Warnings: Pet Injury, Description of Pet Death, Grief, Euthanasia, Mention of Cremation, Depression, Fluff, Cute Puppies in Training that will live long lives, No Reader Pronouns
Notes: Please proceed with caution and ensure that you are curating your internet experience for yourself and your own mental health. These scenes were written based off of my own experiences with pet loss. I will add a *** when the dog death scene is over. The end is cute though.
*** Death Scene Start ***
She wasn’t going to make it.
You had a feeling, running next to her stretcher for as long as possible as the emergency vets at the Inuzuka Animal Hospital rushed her away. A pair of doors stopped you, an employee telling you that you couldn’t go any farther, a firm hand on your shoulder. The small, circular window reflected the ghost of your puffy-red eyes back at you, wavered back and forth as the doors flapped open and closed.
You didn’t remember Kiba bursting in through the front doors. You didn’t recognize him yelling, making a scene in the lobby as he demanded to know where you were. And then he enveloped you, suddenly, knocking you out of whatever daze you were in. Kiba held you tight, still in his bedclothes. His jacket had been tossed on, and his shoes hung off the backs of his heels. You buried your face in the fur lining and cried.
“It’ll be okay,” he said, trying to be optimistic. Your brother was always good at being optimistic, quickly rattling off compliments about your companion’s strength and being an Inuzuka. You thought he even cracked an offhand joke, but you were too out of it to register. You cut him off partway through.
“Not this time,” you whispered. You shook your head, smearing tears across the fur of Kiba’s jacket. “It’s bad. It’s really bad, Kiba.”
He held you as you broke down.
You cried, then stopped. Kiba brought you a warm drink. You sat and cried some more.
It was the morning when they told you there was nothing they could do to save her, and she took her last breaths in the gardens not too long after.
You brought her there in the early morning hours, just as the sun broke the horizon. Fatigue pulled at the bottoms of your eyes as the early sun draped over the flowers. Kiba sat somewhere nearby, watching as the vet prepared to take the pain from your poor friend.
You held your companion in your lap, trying to commit the texture of her coat to memory— as if you hadn’t combed your fingers through her fur hundreds of times before. A compilation of coiled bandages formed a thick mat around her stomach. Parts of the white fabric had already stained red.
You held her as the vet shaved your good girl’s leg, and as day broke, she was gone. The vet told you as much, and some of you didn’t believe it. You held your companion up to your chest, heartbreaking as her head flopped to the side. Someone had told you not to look at her eyes; perhaps it was Kiba. Maybe it was the vet. You looked anyway, hoping deep down in some part of you that something miraculous had happened.
You couldn’t place it.
You couldn’t place exactly what left her eyes that made her so devoid of life.
You could have held her for an eternity in that garden, but at some point, you had to let her go. At some point, the vet had to take her. And at some point, you had to watch as she was laid down in a great basket to be taken off for cremation.
Only when the vet and her assistant began to take your dog away did you realize that you still held her collar. You had taken it sometime in the morning's chaos, clutching it in a death grip. You took a step.
“Wait,” you called, voice cracking. You took another step. “Her collar. She has to have her collar.”
You knelt over the basket, hands shaking as you fastened it. Tears fell from your face like raindrops, and as they completely overtook your vision, Kiba’s hands came over yours. He said nothing as he helped you buckle the collar.
“We can wait,” the vet said gently, offering you a light touch to your shoulder. You wanted to shake your head, some silly idea that you should be strong at that moment. Maybe you had something to prove to yourself. Kiba’s head rose in your peripheral.
“Yeah, maybe just another second?”
You cried harder as they lowered the basket back to the ground.
Your brother, the only one who could respond to your frantic calls, was there for you.
*** Death Scene End ***
You stayed in bed for a few days.
Kiba had brought you lunch the day your companion passed, but that had been the extent of your activity. Every bone in your body begged you to stay curled up under your covers, and that’s where you remained. You drifted in and out of exhaustion, going for rounds of crying before starkly staring at the ceiling as you replayed your mission.
You replayed it over and over in crippling, ripping sessions of self-reflection, daydreaming about ways it could have gone differently.
A knock sounded at your bedroom door. You didn’t bother to answer, and Kiba didn’t wait for your response to let himself in. He opened the door gingerly, poking his head in before he entered and closed it behind him. Kiba sat on the floor, arms crossed at the edge of your mattress.
“When’s the last time you ate?” he spoke softly. “Or… used the bathroom or… maybe a shower?” Several members of your clan had been through to visit you, but none more than Kiba. Perhaps it was the protective big brother in him, or maybe it was because he witnessed your pain firsthand. Tsume hadn’t been nearly as gentle, as war-hardened as she was. You shook your head, burying a bit into the covers. “Please, I want you to take care of yourself. Would you let me help?”
“I-I, uh…” You hiccuped, voice strained. “I don’t want to see anyone right now. I’m sorry, Kiba. It’s not you…” He sighed, slumping against your bed as he let his head hang.
“I take it Mom was through here.” You hiccupped again.
“Like a tornado.”
Meeting his eye was the first time in days you had remotely cracked a smile. Kiba held an almost mischievous expression, a softness mixed with something unreadable, which he held in his eyes as he stood.
“Don’t want to see anyone. Got it.”
You didn’t understand what that meant and were too tired to ask. Before you could muster up the energy, he was gone. You turned on your opposite side, ready to snuggle back into your nest of blankets.
When your door creaked again, you assumed it was Kiba. You had fallen asleep, and your room had gone dark by the time you woke up. A golden light cast itself from the hallway into the wall you were facing. You didn’t bother turning, and with a slow stretch of your legs, you snuggled back into your bed.
Until you heard a thud against the frame of your bed, it was a light sound, like glass.
You shot up in bed, disoriented, as you scrambled to the side. And there, sitting and waiting for you, was a puppy. A small bowl of plain rice had been strapped to her head, a small dish towel folded under the base to keep her from getting burned. She looked up at you with a wide, round gaze, a small amount of crust built up around the inner parts of her eye. A black vest with the word “TRAINING” written in capital letters almost dwarfed her body. She held a pair of wrapped chopsticks in a container in her mouth, her curved tail wagging excitedly as she could barely restrain her paw tapping.
And you laughed, tears rolling down your cheeks as you did. In an instant, your messanger was upon you. You quickly snatched the bowl from the top of her head before it fell, the towel left behind on the floor. You let her lick your face, which she did in earnest, letting out a few snorts as she did so. She got in a long, determined sniff before you managed to sit up, ruffling the black fur on the top of her head and the white fluff of her underbelly.
You didn’t notice Kiba out in the hallway with a collection of other training puppies just on the other side of your ajar door. He knelt, peering in, half-heartedly trying to keep his gathered hoard from jumping on him. He snatched up one by the vest, positioning him in the doorway.
“Okay, you’re up!” he ordered in a hushed whisper, letting the hyperactive shinobi dog in training launch into your room. Kiba hoped that this is what you meant.
Thank you to all who liked, reblogged, followed, and supported. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.
Notes: The black and white one with the rice was my puppy. Rest in peace, Jack and all the other furry friends, near and dear to our hearts.
#kiba x reader#kiba inuzuka x reader#kiba inuzuka#kiba#naruto x reader#naruto#naruto x you#naruto x y/n#x you#x reader#reader insert#naruto fanfiction#naruto fanfic#tw animal death#cw animal death#tw depression#cw depression
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Chapter Twenty-Four
Life after Cyprus really isn’t all that interesting. In fact, I spend most of my time thinking about Cyprus, remembering Cyprus, reliving moments from Cyprus and pretending I’m still there, especially on those drizzly spring days when I look out the little Mezzotint studio window over the slick grey Dublin streets. I wonder just how much more interesting would my life be if I was in Cyprus right now?
“Oi,” Simon snaps his fingers in front of my face, “Earth to Evie, you’ve been daydreaming all morning. Don’t you have… something to do?” He seems unsure about what exactly it is that I’ve been working on, which is understandable. Sometimes it’s cards, sometimes it’s windows, murals, signs, really, it could be anything. It just happens to be a poster for an art exhibition this time. Dull.
“I’m working as hard as I can,” I tell him, which is true, because the most work I can manage is none. I wonder what Jude is doing. When we texted forty minutes ago he was in his studio working on his project, which is a collection of masks inspired by his travels in Asia, and before that he got a coffee in a little cafe near his university. I’m riveted by the idea of what he might be doing now. I text him again.
Not you again…
He texts back, and I smile, no, beam to myself.
Joking, I’m eating a pretzel.
Oh, cool.
I’m thrilled to know about the pretzel, and even more thrilled to receive a photo of said pretzel seconds later. It’s a salt and pepper one half wrapped in a serviette on his lap, and he’s wearing blue jeans and those green and white runners I’ve always liked.
Miss you
I text him.
Miss you too, Evie. Loads. Can’t wait to call you later.
I respond with a barrage of emojis, heart eyed, sparkling hearts, kisses, winky faces, flowers, moons and suns and stars. I should be completely embarrassed of myself , but I mean it all in a partially ironic way. Sort of, and really, I don’t care so much about the horrifying ordeal of sincerity anymore. It feels good to be mushy and emotional, earnest and obsessed with this gorgeous person who puts up with me, and it’s not like anybody is going to read our texts…
“You done talking to your boyfriend?” Simon is right behind me now, and I can tell that he’s trying to sound as annoyed as he can but he’s not really managing it. He’s smirking. Smirking because he saw my stupid emojis, and now I am humiliated.
I stuff my phone back into my pocket, “I’m sorry, I’m so distracted. I’ll get back to work now, I know with this deadline and all…”
“End of day, Evie, I mean it. The client wants that poster by Wednesday, and if you have me panicking at the last minute trying to get it to the printers on time I’m not going to be happy about it.”
“Okay, yeah, I’ll stay late if I have to.”
Gabriel makes a huffing sound when Simon goes back to his seat, “He’s no fun, girl. Text your sexy boyfriend all you like.”
“Can hear you from over here,” Simon comments.
“He thinks he’s so scary and serious,” Izzy chimes in at volume, “But he’s absolutely not. Don’t let him intimidate you into staying late.”
“If the three of you don’t shut up I’m going to implement a no phones and no speaking rule, and it’ll be all Evie’s fault.”
I catch Izzy’s eyes and she rolls them, but indeed, we say nothing else, and for the rest of the day I do my level best to ignore my buzzing phone, and work on the boring, unsexy poster until it’s time to go home.
“Do you think I’ll need a jacket at all when I’m in Sydney?” Claire takes an army green coat with a fur collar from the discount rail at a clothing shop and holds it up to herself in the mirror.
“How cold does it get there in the winter?”
“I’ve no clue,” she sighs, “I’m unprepared, I don’t even actually know what goes on in Australia. Do they like Irish people?”
“Probably.”
“What do you think of this coat?”
“Everyone has that same coat, Claire, it’s too trendy, and I bet they have, like, other kinds of coats in Australia. Maybe you should just wait and see when you go.”
She strokes the faux fur collar lovingly, “It’s fluffy…”
“Look, you’re going in the early autumn, which for them is…” I tilt my head and imagine I’m upside down, “…early spring, so you’ll be going into the summer, and you definitely won’t need a coat, in fact, doesn’t it get so hot there that it bursts into actual flames every few years?”
“A coat is like a safety item though, I can’t imagine being in a place where I won’t need one. Is this the end of cosy winters for me? It feels like I didn’t appreciate the one that just passed, and actually, I complained about how cold and rainy it was the whole time, and I didn’t think about the fact that it might be my last real, cold winter for years and years and…” She’s clinging very tightly to the sleeve of this coat, chest heaving, tears springing to her big, blue eyes, and I immediately reach for her as though I can somehow prevent the imminent breakdown.
“Claire,” I say in my best soothing voice, “You’ll have cold winters. You’ll come home for Christmas when you can, right?”
She relaxes a millimetre, “Yes, yeah I will, you’re right, my parents would be devastated if I didn’t, it just wouldn’t be right, and God forbid Shane Healy isn’t home with Eamonn and Caroline on Christmas Day, God, no they wouldn’t hear of it…”
“Right, and I know what this coat symbolises,” I try to gently pry it from her clutches, “But you’ll take up too much space in your suitcase if you pack something like this, and look,” I put it gingerly back onto the rail, “You can always get your mam to send a package over at some point, you know, if you find that the winters are actually cold and you need something heavier, you have loads and loads of nice coats, don’t you?”
She nods. She’s got that thousand yard stare in her eyes.
“Try to think of this as an exciting adventure.”
“I do think about it like that, I just… I’m an Irish girl, Evie,” She says with conviction as though she absolutely needs me to understand it, “I always, always thought that I’d just live here forever and I’d be glad about it, I had no interest in living abroad, I was just never bothered with any of that, J1 visas and all of that craic, I just can’t believe that I said yes to Australia,” She grabs my arm tightly. “You can’t go further than that without coming back around again.”
“You’ll like it, and if you don’t you can come home.” The truth is that I don’t want her to go at all, I don’t want Shane to go at all, actually, and I’m ashamed of the fact which is why I won’t say it. Having to be the one that holds it together during this conversation is hard for me when all I want to do is cling to her and cry and beg her not to leave me. Doesn’t she know that I have trauma about that kind of thing? Why would she do this to me? “I’m sure you’ll like it there, it’ll be amazing,” I reassure her, “think about Bondi Beach and stuff, and, I don’t know, whatever else they have there. Kangaroos.”
“I don’t care about the kangaroos really,” She frowns, “That’d be something Shane would like, probably.”
“I was kind of joking about the kangaroos.”
“Oh right, well, yeah, so you think I should think more about summer wear?” She pivots to the new season rail, “More bikinis, I suppose, I’ll be having two summers in a row, that’s exciting.”
“That’s the spirit,” I say, “Who wouldn’t want nine straight months of summer?” And I help her to rummage through the rails.
When we come home from town later that evening she’s in a much brighter mood. She’s in the mood for a full on girls night, and is going on and on about getting dressed up and doing each others hair (Which translates to her doing my hair, because I’m relatively clueless about it, while not allowing me to lay a hand on hers, understandably) and then finding a bar that serves fancy cocktails and staying out until town shuts down.
I don’t tell her that I was excited to call Jude, actually, because that’s what I do every night now that he’s away, and I know that he’s in an especially amorous mood because for the whole walk home with Claire he’s texting me the kinds of things that make me have to angle my screen away from her.
I’ve discovered that I like this kind of thing, even if my Catholic Shame is scratching at the door when I get up to the things I get up to when Jude is on the phone. He mostly talks about what he wishes we could do with parts of his body and parts of my body, and I don’t really know how to reply or to say any acceptably sexy things back to him, but I’m more than happy to lie there and listen with shocked delight as he speaks absolute filth over the line to me. Tonight is not shaping up to be one of those nights, though, so I regretfully text him while Claire chatters about this bar and that bar and who does what drinks and for what prices.
Sorry, I think I’m having a girls night out.
Aw, damn.
I think this is when you’re supposed to tell me that you’re happy for me and that I should absolutely spend as much time as possible with my best friend before she moves 15’000kms away from me.
You should do that, that’s what I meant. Going out with Claire sounds a lot better than listening to me.
Hmm… I’m not so sure.
Have fun, Evie. I’ll call you tomorrow.
I’ll probably drunk text you in the meantime.
Please! I love it when you do that.
Claire and I spend two hours getting ready once we’re home, and I love every minute of it, because she has this incredible way of making me look like the best, hottest, most spectacular version of myself. Sometimes when she does my makeup I think back in horror to what I used to let Kelly do to my face. She was dangerous with an eyeshadow brush, and as Claire carefully applies layers of exquisitely blended shimmery gold to my lids I suppress a shudder at the thoughts of what I looked like on my dinner date with Liam all those years ago. I recently uncovered an old photo from a digital camera SD card of myself, awkwardly standing by the flimsy door of Kelly’s mobile home bedroom with eyes rimmed in black kohl liner and a circle of orange foundation around the collar of my top. I don’t know how I wasn’t mocked relentlessly.
“I didn’t notice those things,” Jude said to me when I sent the photo to him, “Maybe it was just too dark out that night, I don’t know, but I remember thinking you were really pretty when we were on the quay.”
“Yeah right, I was a ghoul,” I told him.
“A pretty cute ghoul, and by the way, didn’t you see my haircut? I definitely looked worse than you.”
Of course he didn’t, he always looked cute, but I never bother to tell him things like this, because he always denies them for the sake of being humble, or at least the pretence of being humble. I’m never quite sure which.
Before I go out I make sure to send a photo of myself to him so that he can remember that I can look good if I try, with help from Claire and about sixty euros worth of beauty products slapped onto my face, just in case I’m stricken down by a bus tonight and that awful teenage picture is the last image he has of me.
Bring a stick with you so you can beat the guys away from you
He says, which is total projection. It’s him that probably gets swarmed by the opposite sex in bars so he probably thinks that’s what happens to everyone. But not me, never me, except for the odd time, usually in dark corners of bars when I’m a little bit too drunk, and usually by the calibre of men that Claire would deem absolutely unacceptable to make eye contact with.
“Come on, Evie,” she’s saying now, and I realise that I’ve been staring at my reflection in the black window while she’s been zipping herself into her lightweight jacket. “Jaz and Serena are already there.”
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Tartaglia was a cruel ex. When you first dated him, he was the sweetest boy. Tartaglia would treat you right, buy you flowers, buy you everything you wanted. He was there to support you in you hardest moment. You fell deeply in love with the perfect man for you. Little did you know that the role of a Harbinger suited him really well.
“Babe? where are you going?” Ajax asked as you started putting on a fur coat jacket.
“Hm..? I’m going to my friend’s house, didn’t I tell you?” You questioned him. You seemed confused as to why he was asking since you just told him about your friends birthday party yesterday.
“Um. You’re not going Y/n.” Ajax strictly says. He locks eyes with you, his eyes turning dark. This was unusual of him he usually allows you to go anywhere especially when he has a lot of harbinger work.
“Why can’t I go? You literally sounded okay with it the other day.” You stopped putting on your shoes to face Ajax.
“I don’t want you to go, Y/N. That woman has a boyfriend.” What.? Since when was Ajax jealous like this? He always trusted you and didn’t mind you around other guys. And you, of course, trusted him too but why was it different today?
Tartaglia, has a way with words. A skill he’s adapted as being a harbinger. Words that can make you feel so guilty.
“Honestly, i’m so done with you right now Ajax. I can’t have anything because of you. Why have you started acting like this?” You felt an overwhelming amount of sadness. Why? Why did he have to hurt you. Ajax looked at you with stern eyes, and then they softened. You actually thought he was sympathizing with you.
“I’m sorry if I hurt you but, you’re the problem here.” Your eyes widened at his words. Me? The problem? “I mean, you’re the one making me feel like there’s other men as competition. You hurt me too. I’m only doing this to you so we can be happy, so i can be happy from the miserableness You, put me through.” You never really thought of it that way.., was it really you who was the problem? You felt so much guilt wash over you. You hurt Ajax. Ajax wrapped his arms around you. “Don’t worry my love, i’m doing this for us.” His poisonous words felt comforting.
———————————————————————————————————
It’s been a Year or two since you and Ajax broke up. You haven’t seen him in a long time, he was probably away from Snezhnaya. His work as a harbinger means that he has to travel to other nations. You got over Ajax a long time ago..you still think about him here and there but you’ve learned how that relationship didn’t have a future. (or did it?😈)
You didn’t know why, but today you felt,,sad? That wasn’t the right word to describe how you felt. You decided to go to the to the tavern of snezhnaya. It was a popular tavern that you and your friends usually go to. You also used to go to the tavern with Ajax.
‘Ugh, why can’t I stop thinking about him it’s already been a year.’ Your nose scrunched as you entered the tavern. The strong stench of beer and wine filled your senses.
“Uh, I’ll have a Snezhnayan Fire-Water.” You tell The bartender.
He chuckles, “Are you sure about that little lady? Fire-Water is the strongest alcohol in Teyvat!” You seemed a bit offended by this bartender, of course you can handle this. Plus, you needed something heavy to drink to get everything off your mind.
“I’ll have one whole bottle of Fire-Water.” You slam the mora on the table a bit too aggressively. Everyone turned to look at the ruckus you made. *sweatdrops* The bartender was a bit taken aback and quickly went to get your Snezhnayan Fire-Water . ‘That ought to show that bartender, Hmph’ You quickly walk to a free seat while you wait for your vodka.
While y/n was reading the menu, they caught a familiar sight of ginger hair in the corner of their eyes. Y/n quickly turned around to be met with an…Ajax!? What! what was he doing here? You quickly brought the menu up to your face to cover your face ‘Please don’t notice me please don’t notice me’ And then the loudass bartender just had to shout your name.
“Uh, A Snezhnayan Fire-Water for Y/N.” Tartaglia’s eyes widen at the sound of your name.
“Y/n..?” he mutters under his breathe. He turns his head to see an embarrassed Y/n walking to get their drink. Y/n finally gets to the bar counter to get their drink. The uncomfortable atmosphere almost made you want to dig a hole and die. ‘Out of all places out of all the times I wanted to have time for myself HE had to be here?’ You grab your fire-water drink and boltz out of there.
“HEY, OUR CUPS AREN’T FOR TAKEOUT!” The bartender shouts at you.
“Wait, Y/n.” You heard fast footsteps run after you. ‘Fuck’ A strong arm holds on your shoulder. You quickly turn around and slap Ajax’s hand away.
“Don’t touch me.” You sternly say as you look him dead in the eyes. He chuckles nervously as he removes his hand from your shoulder.
“Its been a while huh? you still look as great as ever.” he said with an abnormal grin on his face. ‘First of all I look like shit right now second of all why are you deciding to talk to me now?’
“Uh, i’m not in the mood right now Aja-Tartaglia.” You say refusing to make eye contact. Tartaglia smirks with a teasing look, he seemed satisfied with the way you’re so used to saying his name.(girl bye im cringing) Ajax glances at the Fire-Water in your hand.
“Woah there, you sure you want to drink that? I mean even my strength can’t handle a bit of Fire-Water.”
“Then I must be stronger than you Tartaglia Number 11 of The Fatui Harbingers.” Your eyebrows furrow as you teasingly smile at the harbinger.
“Oh? Is that a challenge?”
“Yes, it’s a challenge.”
Ajax and You have a full on battle on who can take the most Fire-Water. But in the end you both failed because all you guys could take was one bottle. Your head slammed on the table from the overwhelming amount of vodka you’ve drank. Ajax tried to pour another glass of Fire-Water but he just couldn’t.
“Ughh…why did you make me do this…you idiot..” You grumble as you try to lift yourself up. Your head felt heavy and heat kept emitting from your cheeks. Ajax chuckles from the angry look on Y/n’s face.
“You’re so cute.” Y/n scrunches their nose at the comment Ajax made. Ajax got up from his seat to sit on the other side with Y/n.
“Ajax what are you doing?” He lifts his hand to hold your cheek. ‘what’s he doing..’ Ajax stares longingly in your eyes. ‘his eyes..they’re really pretty’ Y/n started to blush even more than they already are. Ajax goes in to kiss Y/n, and before he could pull away Y/n holds his face in place. Ajax was a bit taken aback but he wasn’t complaining. Your soft lips crash against his rough lips. You miss this feeling. The feeling of comfort from your ex lover. The way he touched you, the way he kissed you, the way he comforted you. You missed it all. Even if he hurt you in the end Y/n longed for the touch and love of Ajax. Tears started to form in your eyes as you and Ajax desperately kissed each.
You and Ajax finally pull apart, both of you panting from the suffocating kiss. Ajax notices the tears rolling down your cheeks. He softly kisses them away.
“Why don’t we continue this at my place.”
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Previous Dresses: Scarecrow | Riddler, Ra’s, Two-face, & Penguin
I think this will be the last of my Batman Villain Lolita Post for now, with a few of the more challenging villains. Again, feel free to make your own designs or use these in some way, the more the merrier. :D
A few thoughts underneath the read more + alt colors for Zsazs & Killer Moth
Black version for Zsazs to keep with his pants & classic Killer Moth:
Pyg: I think he’s one of the most Devianart Edgelord of the Batman villains, but his portrayal in Arkham Knight was done well enough that I warmed up to him. His plastic surgery nightmare face design is fun and the reactions of the victims & other people worked well, and showed Lazlo as terribly messed up instead of cool edgelordsona. Like, you know, a person who’d exist. Good job Batwriters.
Anyway I leaned towards the guro lolita + simple butcher look his comic and his game designs went for. There are extra additions of frills for both a more “doll”ish look and a touch of ita, since tacky feels part of his character. I didn’t want to just make a mask so I framed the hair as “pigtails” (what else?). I think some make up would add to the look to make the doll idea and the pig idea go farther. The pattern on the bottom of the skirt and boots is supposed to be those chain link people you can cut from a piece of paper that all hold hands, all perfect, like Pyg declares his dollitrons. I’m not sure how successful the transparent apron is but at the end oft the day I like it and that’s what counts.
Freeze: This design might lean too much towards literal costume and less into a more practical interpretation of the design, but I can’t help it, I like the Tron and glowy stuff aesthetic. Doing a retro futuristic lolita look was too fun of an idea to pass up. Not much has changed outside of converting it to a dress and turning the gauntlets into Miku bell sleeves. Snowflake earrings & delicate hair for Fries’ one true love & because they’re pretty.
Black Mask: I didn’t want to do all skulls since there’s enough dresses out there that do that, so I ended up with the mask part of his name. Made sure to give the rich colors of a mobster along with the swag of the suit as well. I think this one could be designed to be better and less busy (to fit in with the sleekness of Black Mask’s look more) but I wanted to go a bit over the top because why not, Lolita’s very theatrical.
Ventriloquist: Ok, this is a silly one. This is nice and casual lolita that doesn’t look too close to Wesker, but that’s because Wesker’s design is supposed to be intentionally plain and meek. Without the (badly drawn, sorry) Tommy gun purse & Scarface, I don’t think he’s recognizable. That’s not a bad thing - him and Scarface complement each other perfectly and make a memorable design. So I did my best to make a cute casual coord and add the few touches to make it look more like Wesker, & drew a teeny Scarface to show such. I wish I could have done more to reference Peyton Riley/the second Ventriloquist but all I could capture was the color since her design is also very simple.
Scarface himself only got colors that were closer to the outfit. I didn’t fancy him up too much since I think it would mess with the gangster look he has, which is already close to aristocrat fashion in the lolita world. He was lucky not to get extra frills at the ends of his sleeves!
Zsazs: another mainly Arkham Design. Most of mine are based partially on Arkham since that’s where I get most of my Batman fix, apologies! Anyway, I just liked the idea of a skin-flesh dress with the locks and buckles of the Arkham prisoner jacket/uniform. The bell sleeves already being on him made this a lot easier. I left a spot open where I was going to draw the bat symbol, but I decided against it.
Killer Moth: Top are his Arkham Asylum Artwork colors since I think they’re very nice. Went for a cute little 1960s inspired fur coat & bob, as his design is already psychedelic. Gave a fun flower crown to round out the colors & hold up some cute moth antenna.
Firefly: His The Batman design was the most unique to pull from and a good starting point to make an outfit. I took some inspiration of the warning stripes, junk around the belt, & burnt skin tights from the Arkham version too. *ellis voice* I ever tell you about the time Keith and I made fireworks? Otherwise, his design would have been much harder to work with considering it’s mostly a solid suit with not many features in his apperances. It would have had to be more abstract if I went for one of those.
But yeah his The Batman design and designs spinning off from it kick ass, so I did a sporty-ish look. I hope the bonnet doesn’t look too silly, I just wanted headware that differed the outfit from Killer Moth better.
Strange: Another design that had to go with the Arkham look. Strange is a classic villain with his face being one of his big, defining features. This is a great thing in character design, it just means it’s harder to make an outfit around it!
I love the classic mad scientist look so I didn’t stray too far from it, it looks fun medical Lolita already. All I really did was add the medical book brain pattern (thank you British Library) + little bats, because of course he’d have bats on his brain. It’s also a nod to his habit of Batman Cosplay & impersonation.
A few people I thought of but didn’t make dresses for:
Joker - He’s fabulous, I just didn’t feel jokery & wanted to focus on others more.
Catwoman, Harley, & Ivy - All three ladies have so many designs it’s hard to choose. They have so much more freedom with their designs than most of the male crooks. I’d have to make like... 4+ outfits for each just like I did with Scarecrow if I was to ever be satisifed. ;w;
Mad Hatter, White Rabbit - All the Alice themed supervillains have been done as Lolita Coords by Lolita fashion already since, well, Alice was a big inspiration for the fashion in general. I’d be down for them but I just felt bad because I couldn’t think of how to separate them from others as well as I could, like how I made Black Mask’s design more elaborate as to make sure the themes and connections to the villain was clear rather than just a skull design.
Killer Croc & Man-bat: Also hard to differ between a general animal-themed coord and them.
Thanks, hope you guys are enjoying your new year so far. :D
#batman villains#batman fanart#batman#mr. freeze#batman arkham series#arkhamverse#lolita#hugo strange#killer moth#firefly#zsazs#arnold wesker
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HC; The Last Crossroads Rockstar
"Oh, no... these are just... the tools of my trade, baby. Now. Who're you takin' your chances on?"
It is a testament to his ego that October Roulette's kit of death has been on grand display since the early days of his fame.
The custom engraved .45 Colt Buntline gifted to him at 17 years old depicting honeysuckle flowers, dead trees and runes along the barrel with a red-stained cherrywood handle is where his nickname "Roulette" came from- the gamble a deadly one, not a monetary one, and this side-arm has featured prominently on the cover of every cover his band and solo career saw released, and is a commonly tattooed reference for fans of Autumn's Gamblers or Odd Revolver. It's regarded fondly, an old friend- the one thing that has never left him high and dry, and despite it's age, nearly 31 years old, it functions like new, and the black tarnish on silver barrel only serves to intensify the silvery engraving and citrine stone inlays along the handle- glittering, bright orange eyes staring from the carved-in face of a fanged goat.
But it is not typically a .45 round that ends the lives of those who fall to the Gambler, that honor is attached to the 9-inch blade of the skinning knife similarly customized to October's strenuous wants and desires. Intentionally made to be difficult to place as anything other than a standard hunter's kit and therefore easy enough for any party to get their hands on to perform any host of cruelty with, October's favored blade depicts a nightscape between the handle and business end, and is kept sharp enough he could shave with it. It sits hidden in a holster against his side just the same as its partner in crime, prepared to kill at a moment's notice, and it's blood spilled with this knife that imparts it's clinging, coppery smell to the heavy, custom made jacket that hangs around his massive frame.
The coat, intentionally made to further bolster an imposing, towering frame, is more threat than fashion, worn even through hot weather over typical crustpunk fare. Heavy metal fasteners reinforce dirty, stained leather and run through matted brown, black, and red fur, strips of fabric and bits of metal fastened to sleeves to further customize something that even those familiar with his celebrity assumed was a simple costume piece. A wolf's pelt lends itself to the collar, thick grey and black not dissimilar from October's own mohawk and Vitiligo dotted, age-marked beard. It has seen as much suffering as its owner, and in the fabric, fur, and leather, it carries the blood spilled from every offering made to that which handed over his success- bodies made and laid to rest at crossroads with surgeon's precision and an artist's madness.
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Ring (Darkstache)
Summary: Darkiplier has held onto this little pink ring for long enough. It's time for him to finally take the next step, no matter how daunting it feels.
Word count: 900+
Tw: None, I think. Just tooth-rotting fluff
Five small pink crystals of rose quarts arranged in a circular pattern around a small diamond, resembling a flower. A golden band, circling the flower of crystals, resembling slightly overgrown vines.
A ring, that had resided under Dark's hardly used bed most of the time for months now. He had gained the bravery needed to purchase but lacked the bravery for the next step.
They were an entity that was created out of nothing but anger and the need for revenge. The idea of Darkiplier in love felt like the perfect example of an oxymoron to him. Yet here he was, sitting on the edge of his bed, cradling the small pink box in his hand for the third time this week, trying to figure out how to ask.
He took a breath and stuffed it in his pocket. This was getting ridiculous, and had drawn out far longer than necessary already.
But as the other egos started entering his life, he found a capacity for love. He found himself losing the need to destroy Actor. He found a need to protect the others. It softened him, and Dark honestly couldn’t be more thankful. He was no longer just a broken entity with one consuming goal. They felt real emotions now. Not just rage.
He was finally alive, but that didn’t mean he was used to it. The joy didn’t make the ring any less scary.
Some of the more astute egos had been pestering him for a while now. Little playful taunts here and there, about how he should just ask the question already. Wilford would surely say yes, so why was he so terrified?
–
He and Wilford have been together for years now. Everyone knew it was coming. They were all just waiting on him. Years ago he wouldn’t have ever entertained the thought of love. Years ago he was still focused solely on taking care of Actor.
Yet now he was focusing more on Wilford's weight gently leaning on him. The texture of his fur coat pressed up against Dark. The smell of bubblegum and cotton candy, with a hint of gunpowder. The way Wilford waved his free hand as he spoke.
Wilford looked over “Yeah?” He asked lightly.
“Would you mind accompanying me on a walk through the garden? It’s nice out, today”
Wils eyes lit up “Of course, gumdrop! One sec, let me grab my jacket!” he said, dropping his cards and running off to his room.
Bing noticed Dark straightening out his tie or suit more than usual. His almost nervous body language. His occasional deep breaths.
“Ooooh are you finally gonna do it?” Bing asked with a sly grin.
Dark glanced at the group of egos, who now all had their eyes on him, all with varying levels of excitement and anticipation.
“I swear if you all try to spy, I will ground every last one of you till next year” Dark scolded
The Jims looked very disappointed, showing they had had every intention to do so.
“Fine, fine. Everyone knows it’s gonna go well anyways. Go sweep your man off his feet” Bing said. Despite being somewhat teasing, there was a decent amount of sincerity and support in his tone. Yancy, Bim, and Illinois chirped in their own genuine agreement and support, causing Dark to feel deep gratitude for all of them.
Even if they had been a little intrusive throughout this whole process, he couldn’t help but feel happy that he was supported in this big scary step.
“Thank you” He said with a brief nod, still unsure about how to respond to such overwhelming positivity, and headed to the back door to wait for Wilford.
Soon, he saw his boyfriend barrel down the stairs, pulling on his pink fur coat. Wilford hooked his arm around Dark's arm and grinned “Let's go” He said happily.
Dark chuckled softly at Wilford's ever-constant enthusiasm, and headed out into the garden. “How’s your day been, my love?” Dark asked as they walked.
“I finally found out where my candy stash has been disappearing to! Turns out Dr. Iplier has a MAJOR sweet tooth.”
“Is that so?” Dark asked, a little amused.
Wilford nodded, leaning into Dark a bit as they walked. “Yeah. Which is so hypocritical considering that he insists candy kills you. Granted he says EVERYTHING kills you so I guess that’s not saying much...”
Dark could hardly focus on Wilfords words. Not that he didn’t enjoy Wilford's ramblings. He always loved hearing Wilford's excited explanations of typically mundane things.
“What a coincidence,” Wilford said with a grin, “I have something to ask you too”
“Wilford?” Dark asked, walking into the living room, where Wil was currently playing Uno with the Jim Twins, Bim, Bing, Illinois and Yancy.
Soon they reached a point of the garden that was as far from the Manor as they could get. He felt Wilford let go of his arm, presumably to pick a flower or mess with a butterfly he found. He took the free second to take a breath and reached into his pocket.
He pulled out the box and opened it, taking a shaky breath, “Wilford, I have to ask you someth-”
Dark froze when he finally looked at Wilford. He was on one knee, holding a small black box, with a dark crystal holding soft tints of blue and red, encircled by a black metal band.
Wilford kept speaking about his day, full of energy. The energy that completed Dark.
#sam21 writes#darkstache#darkiplier oneshot#darkstache oneshot#markiplier oneshot#Wilford Warfstache#wilford warfstache oneshot#darkiplier x wilford#he/they darkiplier#marriage proposal#proposal fic#pastel bubblegum#sleep deprived in 3d#3d pastels
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⛄XL MAXIS MATCH Februar CC Haul Teil 1
💕YouTube: SimsLeni
Presets:
1: oh so pretty freckle & moles set
2: nose 1+2
3: another nose preset pack
4 + 5: control body preset
6: freyja eyebrows
Haare:
1: cynthia hair
2: hannah hair
3: magnolia hair
4: sabrina hair
5: scarlett hair
6: sabrina hair
7: amaya hair
8: lia hair
9: adriana hair
10: serena hair
11: gaia hair
12 - 18: love affair set
19 - 21: axa kappa set
22 - 24: axa angel set
25: yua hair
26: thalia ponytail
27: aj buns
28: ingrid hair
29: katniss braid
30: flower bun
31: marla hair
32: rachel hair
33: adeline braided hair
34: shelley hair
35: ari hair
36: ria hair
37 + 38: sunny day set
39: chloe hair
40: vivika hair
41: sooa hair
Accesoires:
1: earmuffs axa angel
2: charlotte earmuffs
3: sweet dreams eyemask
4: earring pack
5: vivika earrings
6: naomi scarf
Makeup:
1 - 3: valentine collection eyeshadows
4: aspen eyeshadow
5: pumpkin frost eyeshadow
6: blue lotus eyeshadow
7: avalanche eyeshadow
8: love frost eyeshadow
9: valentine collection eyeliner
10: azure eyeliner
11: valentine collection blush
12: cold girl blush
13 + 14: valentine collection lips
15: pluto lips
Oberteile:
1: lora t-shirt
2: ruffle sweater
3: carlotta polo
4: viola blouse
5: vivienne top
6 - 8: axa kappa set
9 - 11: axa angel set
12: candy top
13: alicia sweater
14 + 15: urban city II
16: ana bikini top
17: selena jacket
18: candice top
19: mia top
20: vision sweater
21: cheshire coat
22: appa jacket
23: aki zip up
24: nami shirt
25: sara stripped sweater
26: nightime sweater
27: juliana bra
28: charlotte sweater
29: naomi shirt
30: lulu top
31: tied longsleeve
32: eunwoo blouse
33: check fur jacket
34: chunky sweater
35: ruffle baby tee
36: lace tank
37 + 38: love affair set
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hey do you guys remember that i write sometimes? yeahh me neither anyways i got bored so i just wrote what is easiest for me aka random 2nd person shit. 500 word drabble below the cut i guess
You stand in front of a beautifully overgrown garden. Flowers spread out farther than was originally intended. Vines tangle with flowers in a way that you wish you were smart enough to have done yourself. Rose bushes prick your legs as you stare ahead of you. You can’t help but watch as honey bees hover by the lavender. The lavender that overwhelms your nose every time you breathe in. You move to look closer at peonies erratically spread out around you, tempted to even pick one but you’re able to restrain yourself when you notice the ants crawling across the pink petals. You try to head deeper into the garden but you find something stopping you. It feels as if someone is tugging you away. You turn expecting to find a face looking back at you, perhaps someone finally having gone looking for you, but all you find is your jacket caught on the rose bush you had left behind you. You can’t help letting out a laugh as your heart rate calms down and you start to untangle yourself from the rose’s thorns. You yelp as a stray thorn draws blood from your finger, you’d forgotten how truly sharp these things were. A drop of blood falls onto a daisy peeking out from the field of plants. You suck at your finger as you finally unhook yourself from the offensive flower. You berate yourself for not bringing band aids with you when you left as you walk through what was once a path through the flowers. While trying to dodge stomping one of the darling violet flowers near your feet you fail to notice the stray rock you trip on. You had always been a clumsy child so thankfully your body instinctively knows to land on your knees and hands rather than getting a mouthful of dirt and probably inedible purple flowers. You mourn your thoroughly scraped up hand, both attacked by rose bushes and your own stupidity in the same couple of minutes. Before you can haul yourself up you notice a flash brown in front of you. It appears your tumble had frightened a bunny that had most likely been eating its lunch. You apologize to the long gone ball of fur under your breath as you stand yourself up. You brush the dirt off your clothes but it would definitely stain nonetheless. Perhaps you should have asked your mother how she always used to get the grass stains out of your clothes while you had the chance. Well it’s no use now, and a little stain wouldn’t hurt anyone. You look up at the sky as the sun beams down at you, the sun had something against you personally as it shined right in your eyes. You felt your coat blow in the brisk wind and you raised your hand to block out the sun as you looked at your surroundings once again. It really was beautiful, and the smell reminded you of a better time. Of playing in your mother’s yard with friends you forget the names of and of days filled with bright smiles. You wish you could capture this moment somehow but you’re not an artist and it wouldn’t have mattered if you were anyways due to the lack of paint and canvas with you right now. All you had was your eyes and your memory so you decided you would let yourself explore the area more, it's not like anyone was waiting for you to get back home.
#not really edited i literally just wrote this to get me used to writing again#2nd person is all i can write i swear to god#specifically 2nd person descriptive drabbles#anyways please tell me if you like it im so bad at judging my own writing#klepto talks to himself#klepto's writing tag
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30 days of Echor - Week 2
So I'm back to talk about my lovely OCs again with this weeks prompts (I have serious brainrot over them thank you so much @green-eyes-and-orange-ties for starting this)
1.Ino Aristos
Hair: Short light brown bob with curtain bangs, curly, tighter curls near her ears
Eyes: One teal, one bright pink, no pupils, people think they're contacts most the time
Distinctive Markings: Other than her VT traits, she has a scar on her cheek from cutting it by accident with the edge of a cupboard door (she's short okay leave them alone), and a tattoo of the leo and cancer symbols intertwined on her shoulder
Everyday Clothes: white or black tank top, baggy black jeans or black skirt with ripped tights, grey or, if she's feeling daring, pink custom made jumper with space for wings, big black floor length faux fur coat to hide wings, and black and pink platform boots
Formal: Never really had a chance to wear formal apart from her wedding day, where she wore a black dress with real lace on the sleeves and neck, complete with poofy sleeves and skirt
PJs: Pink tank top with "don't talk to me unless I've had my coffee" written on the front, and pink with rainbow stars short-shorts
Something That Isn’t What It Appears To Be: The coat hides her wings pretty well that people don't know unless she takes the coat off
2. Atlas Aristos
Hair: Sunset colours (pink and blonde), usually clipped back away from her eyes with her flower hairclip but it still somehow falls in her face, short wolf cut with bits that always stick out at the sides (Ino calls it axolotl hair)
Eyes: Green with snake-like pupils
Distinctive Markings: As well as her previously mentioned VT traits, she also has white egg-shell-like scales on her cheeks (luckily these can be covered with makeup pretty easily), and the same tattoo as Ino (matchy matchy)
Everyday Clothes: White or pink graphic t-shirt with a cute design on the front, pink or white plaid skirt, thigh highs or tights, light tan coat or green leather jacket, pink and white platform boots, and her signature hello kitty backpack and my melody strap bag (one can never be over prepared)
Formal: Like with Ino, only wore formal for her wedding, where she wore a blush tulle and lace off-the-shoulder dress, which had floral designs on the bodice and sleeves, completed with matching pink floral heels
PJs: Black and pink kuromi pajama bra and short-shorts (if it's cold she puts her my melody onesie on)
Something That Isn't What It Appears To Be: From how she looks and dresses, you wouldn't expect her to be the one in the couple that carries around self-defense items in case they get attacked for whatever reason, but in that cute sanrio bag, there's an equally cute and pink switch knife and pepper spray
Oh this was so much fun!!! I made them pinterest boards to get ideas for their outfits and such, and I made picrews of them too! The one with the pink background is Ino and the purple is Atlas
I can't wait to do next week's!!!
#30daysofechor#30 days of echor#EchorOCs#they are my babies#even if they would be older than me if they were real#I love Atlas' hair#yes they have matching necklaces#marriage and shit#night shift podcast#night shift pod
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12 Days of Christmas
ON THE 1ST DAY OF CHRISTMAS
MY TRUE LOVE GAVE TO ME...
Bakugou Katsuki grumbles his annoyance as he pulls his jeans on over his powerful legs, securing the zipper and button. He pulls his long-sleeved shirt on next, the material taut over his arms and chest, loose around his trim, toned abdomen.
His blonde hair is wild atop his head, barely contained by the black beanie he tugs down over the spikes, squishing them down so they poke out at every angle from beneath the brim.
His red eyes are fierce and furious as he looks outside, seeing the snow falling and scowling at the tiny white specks as he tugs his woolen socks on.
Katsuki has always hated winter, never having been one to easily withstand the cold, especially not with how it fucks with his Quirk.
He grabs his thick winter jacket, a dark green in color, lined around the hood with a tawny faux fur, zipping it up before grabbing his keys. He ensures his phone and wallet are in place before opening the door and stepping out.
The sound of something falling to the side has him quickly jumping back, looking down and blinking in surprise at the vase he’d just tipped over.
Frowning, he picks it up, situating the ONE ORANGE CHRYSANTHEMUM inside it before standing back up, looking around. If he were in an apartment, he would be asking his neighbors which of those bastards had tried to get out of a date by giving the wrong door number away.
But Katsuki lives in his own house, and has for nearly a year now. He’s never gotten mail for anyone but himself and a couple times for the old woman who lived here before him.
He frowns as he looks the flower over, turning to bring it inside as he looks around the vase for a note or anything, but finds nothing. He fills the vase with water, drops the flower inside, and then walks back to open his front door, looking around for a note that might’ve fallen.
“What the fuck,” he says, confused.
He tugs his front door shut and locks it, looking around as he heads toward the front gate. He pulls his phone from his pocket and dials his long time friend and patrol partner for the day.
“Oi, Deku, did someone leak my address?” He demands.
“I don’t see how that could happen, Kacchan,” Midoriya Izuku says. “Why? What happened?”
“Nothing, nerd,” Katsuki says, sighing in annoyance. “I’m on my way in. Make sure Hatsume finished tuning up my gauntlets.”
“She dropped them off in your office a few minutes ago,” Izuku says. “It’s been really quiet lately though. I think getting a lot of new faces in the HPSC has really been changing things for the better.”
Katsuki grunts. “Right. Whatever. I’ll be there in fifteen.
————————————
ON THE 2ND DAY OF CHRISTMAS
MY TRUE LOVE GAVE TO ME…
CW//Manga spoilers.
Katsuki groans as he sits up in bed, stretching his arms up and out over his head. He’d had a late shift last night and he’s sore all over the place.
People like to call Katsuki destructive because of his Explosion Quirk, but does anyone give Deku shit when Blackwhip snags on a parked car and slams it into a billboard, knocking the whole thing down?
Of course they fucking don’t.
Ever since the war ended, life in Japan has steadily been moving back toward more normal ways of living. It’s a new normal, and one that is still in the works, but it’s getting there.
There had even been a program set up to help rehabilitate villains, one that is heavily monitored by Detective Tsukauchi, who uses his Truth Quirk to ensure the people in said program genuinely wish to better their lives.
Not everyone got out fully intact though, Katsuki certainly didn’t. While his right arm was saved, it gets stiff easily and he had to reinforce his hero costume with compression sleeves to avoid damaging his right forearm further.
His body is still heavily scarred, having gained more over the years, but the massive jagged wounds on his left shoulder, above his heart, on his lower abdomen, the one that coats nearly all of his right forearm, and the mark that covers the right side of his face up along his jaw and cheek, over his eye, are the most notable.
Sometimes when he looks in the mirror, he sees a badass who survived death.
But today, as he uses the toilet and brushes his teeth, he avoids the mirror, not wanting to see someone damaged.
He goes back to his bedroom to get dressed for the day. He doesn’t have patrol until after noon, but he needs to go get groceries. It’s an inevitable part of life, and he refuses to use delivery services because he isn’t some incompetent asshole.
He grabs his phone, wallet, and keys as he heads for the front door. He pulls on his coat and steps down into the genkan to trade his house slippers for his black boots.
He opens the front door and freezes when he sees TWO GRENADE SHAPED PILLOWS sitting there, both wrapped in clear plastic, angled to face his door.
“The fuck?” He says, looking around.
He steps outside and picks one up, feeling through the plastic for anything hard like a hidden device or any type of weapon. He checks the other one as well, but finds nothing.
With a frustrated sigh, he takes them inside, tossing both over by the counter, where the vibrant flower still sits in its vase.
He goes back out his door, locking it and scowling as he eyes the edge of his front gate with a narrowed gaze. “Oi! Whoever you are, stop leaving shit by my fuckin’ door!”
————————————
ON THE 3RD DAY OF CHRISTMAS
MY TRUE LOVE GAVE TO ME…
Katsuki jerks up out of bed, gasping loudly and clutching his front, his chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath. His body is coated in a light layer of sweat, beading across his brow and dappling his chest and back, wetting the sheets beneath him.
“Fuck,” he says, voice coming out croaky.
He throws his legs over the side of the bed, standing up, feeling a bit unsteady as he walks to his door. He keeps his hand on the wall as he goes, just in case. His throat feels dry and he desperately needs a drink.
He doesn’t bother with a glass when he gets to the kitchen, simply flips the sink on and leans over it to gulp the cool water straight from the tap.
He turns it off after a moment, still breathing hard. He closes his eyes, calming himself down a little more before straightening up.
He knows there’s no way he’ll be able to go back to sleep after that nightmare, so he fills the electric kettle and pulls a mug down, dropping a bag of chamomile tea into it.
While the water heats up, he leans against the counter by the window that looks over his front garden. He looks up at the moon and the snow falling slow and steady in front of it. There’s a stillness tonight, sounds muted by the thick layer of snow that covers the ground and his roof.
He hates it.
Times like this, he wishes he still lived with one of his friends. He would never admit it to them, though he’s sure they know, but he really appreciated having someone with him during these shitty moments.
The electric kettle clicks, signaling it’s done, and he pushes away from the counter, pausing when he sees something shift outside. He goes up on his toes, wishing he had gotten a growth spurt like almost everyone else he knows but no, he stopped growing at 176cm.
His eyes dart around for signs of anything, but he finds nothing. With a frown, he goes back down and turns to fill his mug, brushing it off. It’s likely just a squirrel or bird anyway.
He sniffles lightly, hating the dryness in the air, and he makes a mental note to add more water to the humidifier.
He sits on his sofa and sips at his tea as he grabs the remote, turning the TV on. The news channel pops up right away, going to a story about the former Paranormal Liberation Front.
“It seems Toga Himiko has actually been astoundingly helpful,” the first reporter says, a broad grin on her face.“Since she can use the Quirk of the person whose blood she consumes, when she uses the late Bubaigawara Jin’s Quirk, she can use his Quirk to then use the abilities of others.”
“Yes!” The second agrees, nodding profusely. “Just look at this video from last week’s mudslide rescue operation!”
A video goes up, showing dozens of Uravity’s lifting debris up while various heroes go in to pull people out. As she goes along, Sako Atsuhiro uses his Compression Quirk to shrink down larger debris, adding the marbles to a bag slung around his shoulder.
“Wow,” the first reporter says as the short clip cuts out. “How amazing is that?”
“Really amazing!” The second says. “What are the rest of the ex-members up to?”
“Some are still in Tartarus, of course, but of those who are out, they’re all making marvelous changes,” the first explains. “Shimura Tenko has been fantastic for safely clearing up old buildings, as his Decay Quirk turns it to dust, so there’s no risk of large debris landing on anyone. Himura Geten has apparently found his calling working with zoos, especially the penguins. Todoroki Touya has supposedly been working with the teachers at UA to learn to control his Quirk, and hopes to follow his father and brother into work as a Pro Hero.”
Katsuki rolls his eyes, clicking the TV off as he stands, empty mug in hand. He works with Shouto, and the Half-n-Half bastard has been delighted since Touya started working with the One For All agency along with the majority of their graduating class.
Katsuki just thinks he’s an annoying shithead.
A small thump on his front door has him tensing with the mug halfway in the sink. He tilts his head, waiting.
When nothing else happens, he silently sets the mug down and tiptoes over to his front door, quietly unlocking the deadbolt, turning the knob, and tugging the door open, thrusting one hand out, poised to let off a blast.
But there’s nothing there.
He blinks once and looks down, finding a small box.
He grumbles as he leans down, lifting it up and opening it, still suspicious.
Inside, he finds THREE BAMBOO CUTTING BOARDS.
“Stop leaving me shit, whoever the fuck you are!”
————————————
ON THE 4TH DAY OF CHRISTMAS
MY TRUE LOVE GAVE TO ME…
Katsuki stumbles through his front gate, sore all over from getting bodily slammed into a brick wall by fucking Kirishima Eijirou, who had crushed his communicator and didn’t get the update that Katsuki had caught the firecracker Quirk user.
Which is fucking insulting to be mistaken for. Katsuki does not make firecrackers, he makes explosions.
But Eijirou, all raged out in his Unbreakable form hadn’t realized it was Katsuki rounding the corner, and now his whole back is covered in bruises that won’t get to heal until tomorrow because their agency’s on call healer had already left by the time he’d gotten back to the office.
Which is fair, as it’s definitely past four in the morning, possibly later, but Katsuki won’t know for sure until he’s inside and can check a clock, since the fucking attack from Eijirou had crushed his cellphone.
He grumbles vague death threats toward his redheaded friend as he pulls his keys from his pocket, stepping up onto his front porch and pausing when his boot crunches something that sounds distinctly porcelain.
He slowly raises his boot and steps back, leaning down with a hiss of pain to lift the little tray up. It’s lightly covered in snow, but the FOUR SAKE GLASSES are beautiful. He almost feels bad about shattering one of them.
They’re all black at the top, but fade to a bright blue on the bottom portion, the color more stunning under the faint moonlight. He frowns, carefully shifting the tray to one hand so he can unlock his door.
If his phone was working, he would send out a text in his group chat, demanding to know who the fuck is leaving him shit.
At this point, he’s pretty sure it’s the ‘Baku-Squad’ morons playing some type of prank on him.
He sets the tray of sake glasses down on his counter, next to the new cutting boards. The orange flower is still flourishing in the vase, sitting at the center of the counter.
He sighs as he heads into his bedroom, walking past his bed, where the two grenade throw pillows are set against his all black bedspread.
He pulls his sweatpants and sweatshirt off, dropping it all in the basket at the corner of his room as he walks over to his bathroom, too tired to give a fuck about anything right now.
He just needs a hot shower and a nice, long morning and early afternoon of uninterrupted sleep.
————————————
ON THE 5TH DAY OF CHRISTMAS
MY TRUE LOVE GAVE TO ME…
“No, I don’t give a fuck, I’m not going there for Christmas,” Katsuki says, one arm crossed over his chest as he holds the phone to his ear.
“And why not, brat?” His mother, Mitsuki, demands. “I promise, we aren’t going to try to set you up this year.”
“Really,” Katsuki says flatly.
“Really,” Mitsuki says. “But… if we just happen to have some eligible single men and women over…”
Katsuki groans loudly, dropping his head back. “Seriously, hag?”
“We just worry about you,” Mitsuki says with a sigh. “You’re twenty-three and you’ve never even been on a date!”
“I don’t need to date,” Katsuki says, hating this conversation. “Besides, I don’t need some poor bastard linked to my name who can’t even fucking defend themself.”
“I guess,” Mitsuki says. “But… you know… there are some hero tabloids who’ve started saying you’re a virgin.”
“Oh my God,” Katsuki groans.
“Dating someone would make that go away,” Mitsuki says, as if it were an innocent suggestion.
“I don’t give a single fuck what anyone says about me,” Katsuki says dryly. “I’m sure that right next to that fuckin’ magazine was an interview with the last person I slept with bragging about it.”
“Probably,” Mitsuki grumbles, obviously pouting.
“I ain’t doin’ this now, I gotta get ready for work,” Katsuki says as his coffee machine beeps, finally finished brewing and filling his travel mug.
“Alright, fine,” Mitsuki says. “Be safe out there.”
“Always am,” Katsuki says, and then hangs up before she can mention the sludge villain, or the war, or the second time he was kidnapped.
The first had sucked, but the League of Villains then hadn’t actually wanted much to do with him and he’d been more bored and pissed off than anything.
But the second time, when he’d been kidnapped in his third year by some fucking villain enthusiast who thought she could lure the fucking LOV over by holding him hostage was shitty. He’d been chained to a wall, shot up with Quirk suppressants, the kind used for medical procedures, and beaten black and blue.
When rescue had finally arrived, his face had been so swollen that he hadn’t even been able to see who had actually gotten to him first. All he knows is that it was some rookie who’s name was left off the report, and that they used a Fire Quirk, which is fucking common.
He puts the lid on his travel mug as he walks to the door, shuffling it from hand to hand as he pulls his coat on. He steps into his boots and opens the door.
His eyes flick down to the stoop before he steps forward, and he rolls his eyes at the black box sitting there. It’s not all that tall and pretty narrow, but about half a meter long. He huffs as he picks it up, holding his coffee between his elbow and pec as he opens it up.
Inside are FIVE GOLDEN RINGS.
They’re too big to be for fingers, but too small to be bracelets. They’re also not standard gold, and he frowns, tilting his head as he lifts one up, turning the metallic golden silicone band. They all have a strange bulge at the top, with something hard inside.
He squeezes one curiously and it starts to vibrate. He scrunches his nose up, looking down at the other four.
Realization hits him after a moment and his entire face flushes a violent shade of red. He throws the whole box of cock rings into his house and quickly steps out, locking the door and storming away, refusing to look back.
————————————
ON THE 6TH DAY OF CHRISTMAS
MY TRUE LOVE GAVE TO ME…
Katsuki rubs a hand down his face, yawning as he waits for the line to connect, his phone ringing in his ear. The kitchen smells like coffee, the scent much stronger than usual as he’d doubled the amount he usually puts in the basket.
Finally, the line connects and a low voice drawls out a lazy, “Hey there, partner.”
“You’d better be fuckin’ ready, Patchwork,” Katsuki says, moving his hand to rub at his eyes. “I ain’t gonna go easy just because you’re new to this.”
“Aw, but why can’t we just take a lazy day?” Touya grumbles, an obvious pout in his tone.
“Because I’m pissed off, so I’m either going to kick some villain ass or I’m going to kick yours,” Katsuki says, and then lets out another yawn.
Touya chuckles over the line. “I’d let you kick my ass anyday, Doll.”
“Don’t need to let me do anything,” Katsuki says, turning to grab the coffee pot, tilting it to pour into his travel mug. “I can kick your ass easy.”
“Sure, sure,” Touya says. “I definitely believe you.”
“Fuck off,” Katsuki says, scowling as he shoves the lid onto his mug. “My shitty ass friends keep leaving me weird ass gifts for some dumbass prank and it’s fucking annoying.”
“I see that,” Touya says, and then a knock sounds on Katsuki’s door.
Katsuki growls as he hangs up, storming over to the door and pulling it open. He sees the ex-villain there, about to open the box and he smacks it from his hands, sending it to his living room floor with a loud crash, the sound of something metal slamming together making them both cringe.
“What the hell,” Touya says, words crackling around a laugh. “Hope that wasn’t anything breakable.”
“I hope it was,” Katsuki grumbles, moving to look at the box.
He squats down, covering it so Touya can’t see over his back as he rights the box with his free hand, lifting the lid. His eyebrows raise at the SIX NESTING BOWLS inside. They’re clearly high quality, made with a spout end, small handles on the sides, each with a small taper, clearly made to fit atop pots for double boiling.
“Damn, those look cool,” Touya says and Katsuki blasts a small explosion at the man, making him snicker as he bounces back to the door. “Come on, we can’t be late, Doll.”
“Fuck off,” Katsuki says, sighing as he lifts the box, carrying it over to the counter.
“So, why do you think it’s your friends?” Touya asks curiously as he steps back outside, eyeing the blonde as the man locks his door.
“Because only my shitty friends know what I like,” Katsuki grouses.
“Ah, so it’s all good stuff then, huh?” Touya says, tilting his head. “What’d you get yesterday?”
Katsuki’s cheeks flush darkly as he turns, shoving his free hand in his pocket. “Rings.”
Touya raises a brow at him, but Katsuki doesn’t meet his gaze, lifting his mug to sip at his coffee. It’s way too bitter, but it helps to warm him up.
“Didn’t think you were one for jewelry,” Touya says.
“They weren’t—“ Katsuki starts, but cuts himself off. “Shut the fuck up.”
“Whatever you say, Doll,” Touya says, snickering as they walk past his gate, making their way toward the One For All offices.
————————————
ON THE 7TH DAY OF CHRISTMAS
MY TRUE LOVE GAVE TO ME…
The hot water rains down Katsuki’s head as he pants, one of the golden cock rings sitting just under the head of his dick as he strokes himself, panting heavily as he thrusts into his soap slicked hand.
“Fuck,” he hisses, feeling his edge rapidly approaching.
His eyes are closed, and his other hand is behind him, thrusting a slicked up dildo into his ass. He’s not great at hitting the right spot and he misses his prostate half the time, making himself growl.
But he really isn’t in the mood to be going out to some bar for an undoubtedly mediocre fuck, and he’s pent up. He’s a young, healthy man with a high sex drive, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t take advantage of the limited amount of free time his job allows him.
The music on his waterproof speaker is suddenly cut off as a call comes through. He grits his teeth angrily, grunting out an annoyed, “Ignore.”
Obviously, the stupid fucking machine heard him wrong, because the sound of the call connecting beeps and a familiar, obnoxious voice says a low, “Good morning, Doll Face.”
Touya’s voice is lower than usual, rough with sleep, clearly also not yet used to this weeks patrol schedule that has the both of them paired for the rest of the week.
It’s the perfect baritone to send Katsuki over the edge, and he barely manages to cover the sound of his moan with a growl, doing his best to make angry noises as his spend spills out onto the shower floor.
“You good there, Doll?” Touya asks, sounding genuinely concerned.
“Why the fuck are you calling me so early?” Katsuki snaps, his face flushing red as he turns the vibrator on the cock ring off and sets both it and the dildo down on the shower ledge.
“Well, I wanted to know if you like black coffee, or if you want good coffee today,” Touya drawls. “I’m walking past that new café, want me to grab you something?”
Katsuki licks his lips, his brow furrowing, still feeling a little hazy from his orgasm. “Fine.”
“Alright, see you soon!” Touya says, his voice far too cheerful.
Katsuki just grunts, dropping his head against the wall as he curses under his breath. A moment later, his music starts back up again and he lets out a long groan.
“No, no, no, you are not allowed to have feelings for the bastard who kidnapped you,” he scolds himself.
He shuts the water off, grabbing his towel to dry his body before wrapping it around his waist as he makes his way over to his bedroom. He pulls on clean boxers, a pair of jeans, and his favorite black skull shirt.
He shoves his phone, wallet, and keys into his pockets as he makes his way over to the front door, shoving his feet into his boots and his arms into his coat. He pulls the door open and his expression falls completely flat.
There are SEVEN MANEKI-NEKO STATUES poised around his front stoop, all angled toward Katsuki, their raised paws all waving at him almost tauntingly. As if Katsuki were going to need all the luck he could get.
“Lucky number seven, huh,” Katsuki says, rolling his eyes.
He grabs the statues, moving them all inside and setting them just in the genkan so he can deal with them later.
————————————
ON THE 8TH DAY OF CHRISTMAS
MY TRUE LOVE GAVE TO ME…
Katsuki opens the front door, immediately looking down, sighing at the box there. He picks it up and carries it inside, opting to look at whatever stupid shit it is as he waits for his coffee to brew.
He opens the lid and cocks a brow at the black fabric inside. He raises it up, snickering when he sees the bold orange FUCK OFF across the chest. He sets it aside and lifts the next one, black again, with a lazy scrawl out in hiragana saying If I haven’t offended you yet I will get to you soon.
He sets that one atop the previous and flips through the other items, finding that it’s EIGHT GRAPHIC T-SHIRTS.
They’re all black, and he sighs as he reads the next one. WHAT’S UP, FUCKERS? He snorts as he sets it aside to read the next one, which he actually already owns, but it's ripped; I don’t care, go away.
The next one has him fighting back a grin, MORALLY FLEXIBLE, which his friends had started calling him after he’d defended several of the LOV members after the war, pointing out that they weren’t evil, but that they genuinely had gone through some shit.
There likely would’ve been a second war or some world ending shit if he hadn’t been able to convince Aizawa to reach out to the League of Villains. But that connection he’d formed with them, especially after nearly having been killed by them, really helped solidify a bond.
Though the League still functioned well through Katsuki’s third year at UA, it was shortly after his second kidnapping that they officially disbanded. He’d fought against them all several times by that point, and honestly, it had pretty much just turned into Himiko gossiping as she danced around him, or Touya, as Dabi, flirting relentlessly.
Katsuki pushes the memories away as he lifts the next shirt, There’s no need to repeat yourself, I ignored you perfectly well the first time, which has him laughing softly. He shakes his head, lifting the next, which just has a skeleton hand raising a middle finger, the greenish tint to the white decal meaning it’s likely glow-in-the-dark. The last shirt simply says NOPE in white on the front, which he’s pretty sure he actually owns in reverse coloring.
He pulls his sleep shirt off and tugs the MORALLY FLEXIBLE shirt on, grinning like an idiot as he pours his mug of coffee.
He refuses to let his idiot friends know that he’s enjoying the gifts, but if they catch a glimpse of the t-shirt, it wouldn’t be too bad.
But he will never admit to using the cock rings.
And as soon as he finds out which of his friends—he is positive it was Kaminari—chose them, he is going to strangle them.
He puts the lid on his travel mug and sets it on the counter next to his keys and wallet before going to his room to pull on his jeans and a pair of thick wool socks. He does the button up on his pants as he walks back into the living space, rolling his eyes when he hears a knock on the door.
He pockets his wallet and grabs his mug, walking over to the door and tugging it open as he grabs his coat, juggling the mug as he shoves his arms into the sleeves.
“Nice shirt, Doll,” Touya says.
“Fuck off,” Katsuki says, stepping into his boots and walking out, turning to pull his door shut.
“Damn, guess I shouldn’t have gotten you a coffee, huh?” Touya says and Katsuki turns to look at him, finally noting the two to-go mugs in his hands.
Katsuki slowly pockets his keys. “S’ it the same shit as yesterday?”
“Yup,” Touya confirms, holding one out, raising a brow.
“Whatever,” Katsuki says as he takes it. “Might as well take all the fuckin’ heat I can get.”
“Exactly,” Touya says as they start walking, the burned man close at his side. “We can just pretend we don’t both know you like caramel macchiatos. It’ll be our secret.”
————————————
ON THE 9TH DAY OF CHRISTMAS
MY TRUE LOVE GAVE TO ME…
Katsuki wakes up with a gasp, his heart beating rapidly in his chest, but this time it’s not from a nightmare.
He rubs his hands down his face, groaning in annoyance. He slaps his hand down on the side of his blanket, whipping it up off himself as he sits up, grimacing at the sticky cum in his boxers. He walks to the bathroom, hating the flush that rises to his cheeks as he thinks back to his dream.
Can he really be blamed for creaming in his pants when he’d been dreaming about lying across his kitchen table, his head dangling off the end as Touya fucked his throat, his scarred hand wrapped around his neck as he choked on the man’s length?
Just thinking back to it has him getting hard again and he curses his stupid dick.
He blames Touya for this mess—the guy is a relentless flirt, and the way he likes to lean over Katsuki’s back and whisper in his ear while he’s filling out paperwork is hot. It’s stupid, he hates it.
But fuck, the guy is literally hot.
As someone with a Quirk that uses heat, Katsuki’s body temperature is higher than most people’s, as is Touya’s. Most people feel cold to him, one of the reasons he doesn’t like getting close to people, especially not in the colder months.
But Touya is also a fire user, and his body temperature sits even higher than Katsuki’s. It’s a fact that has him shuddering as he climbs into the shower, dropping his gross boxers on the floor.
He knows Touya’s hands would sear into him as he touched him, and he draws his own hands along his chest, across his nipples and down his abs, finally gripping his cock, stroking himself slowly.
He’s gotten off to thoughts of his temporary partner nearly every day since working with him, and he’s pissed off. He shouldn’t want anything to do with the man, he should not be standing in his shower, jerking his cock faster as he closes his eyes, wondering what it would feel like to be kissed by the man’s lips—would the lower feel rough?
He wonders if Touya likes it as rough as Katsuki does; if he could satisfy him better than the useless extras he picks up in bars once in a while. Katsuki has to be nice to those people, has to not leave marks to avoid lawsuits and shit.
But Touya doesn’t care what people think about him, and Katsuki wants to be marked. He wants to be fucked so hard that he blacks out; wants to be shoved against a desk, a wall, a counter, he doesn’t care—he just wants to be taken.
“Fuck,” he groans as he cums, spilling out over his hand onto the shower floor, panting as he squeezes the head of his dick before stroking himself a couple more times.
He smacks his forehead against the tiled wall before grabbing the first of his soaps. He’s angrier now as he scrubs himself down, shame burning his cheeks.
He will never admit that he, Bakugou Katsuki, The Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight, gets off on the thought of being dominated.
He turns the shower off, roughly drying himself off as he steps out, swiping his cum soaked boxers from the floor as he goes back to his room, chucking it all into his laundry basket. He pulls on a clean pair of boxers, jeans, and he doesn’t even look at what shirt he grabs before pulling it on.
A knock sounds on his front door and he frowns, crossing the room to grab his phone, cursing when he realizes he spent way too long in the shower.
He half jogs to the front door, swiping his wallet and keys up, shoving them into his pockets as he opens the door. Touya is looking into the latest of Katsuki’s gifts with a raised brow.
“More dumb shit?” Katsuki says, rolling his eyes as he pulls his coat on.
Touya shrugs, meeting Katsuki’s gaze. “Dunno Doll, seems pretty fuckin’ hot to me.”
Katsuki tenses, reaching out to snatch the box from Touya’s hands. His face flushes a dark shade of red when he sees the NINE SILICONE BUTT PLUGS.
They’re laid in order, getting progressively larger, each one with a different colored gem on the flared end.
“What the fuck,” Katsuki chokes out. He slams the lid of the box down and drops it into his genkan, tugging his door closed with a slam and locking it. “When I find out who is leaving me this shit, I am going to murder them.”
“Seems like they deserve a thank you,” Touya says, snickering when Katsuki glares at him.
“They deserve a broken nose,” Katsuki says, nostrils flaring as he shoves his hands into his pockets, marching off to the front gate.
“Hmm, not a bottom?” Touya questions, eyeing him curiously.
“Go fuck yourself,” Katsuki snaps.
“You gonna let me borrow one of your new toys for that?” Touya teases.
Katsuki’s entire head turns red and he spins around to let off a small blast at the burned man, who cackles loudly.
————————————
ON THE 10TH DAY OF CHRISTMAS
MY TRUE LOVE GAVE TO ME…
Katsuki groans as he sits up on the couch, his back and neck stiff from having slept there all night. But after yesterday’s mystery gift, he is determined to catch the bastard leaving him shit.
He’s pretty sure Chargebolt will be dead by the end of the week, but if Red Riot, Cellophane, Earphone Jack, or Alien Queen also have to die, then they just have to die.
A small scraping sound from outside has him going stone still for a moment, and then he sprints for his front door, throwing the lock open and tugging the door open.
His front gate swings shut and he snarls angrily, knowing he was so fucking close to catching whoever it was.
He grabs the little box and slams his front door shut, opening the box, genuinely not sure what to expect. He’s gotten such a massive variety of shit, he doesn’t even know how to feel as he tugs the lid up.
He raises his brows in surprise at the TEN MEASURING SPOONS AND CUPS inside.
The two sets are both magnetic at the handle, so they can’t be easily lost, and he gives an impressed frown. They’re good quality, as all of it has been.
He lets out a long, frustrated sigh as he walks into the kitchen placing the new items in his sink. He turns the hot water on and grabs the sponge, squirting some dish soap on it as he starts washing the new items.
“Fucking assholes,” Katsuki grumbles. “Bastards givin’ me fuckin’ whiplash with this shit. What the hell.”
He places them all down on the drying rack and turns the water off, drying his hands on a dish towel before moving to his bedroom so he can get dressed for the day.
He pauses at his desk, where the butt plugs are, and he turns, opening the lid and lifting the middle one up, swallowing as he turns it in his hands. He wonders if he could find someone who would like to spend time opening him up with them, breaking him down as he’s slowly stretched more and more over hours.
His hands tremble as he lifts the largest, wondering how it would feel to have something that thick inside him. He wonders what it would feel like to be filled with lube and plugged with the large piece, forced to stay open and ready for whenever Touya wanted to claim him, and could just shove him along the nearest surface and fuck him stupid.
“Fuck,” Katsuki says, hissing as he drops the butt plug to smack his cheeks. “Stop thinking about him.”
He does his best to shove his desires deep down into the pits of his brain, trying to ignore the way his dick has hardened just thinking about it. He lets out a shaky breath as he pulls his pajamas off, pausing when his phone starts to ring.
Katsuki looks over at his screen, the picture of Touya sticking his tongue out and winking that shows up, the one the man had set for himself at the beginning of their week together—the one Katsuki had sworn he was going to delete.
He grabs his phone, swiping the answer button and grunting out a low, “What.”
“Are you ready for me, Doll?” Touya drawls, and Katsuki’s cock twitches, though he valiantly ignores it.
“For fucking what?” Katsuki snaps.
“For some mind blowing coffee, obviously,” Touya says, and a knock sounds on Katsuki’s door a moment later. “Come on, let me in.”
“Fuck off, I’m getting dressed, gimme a goddamn second,” Katsuki snaps, gritting his teeth as he throws his clean clothes onto the bed.
“I wouldn’t be opposed to helping you with that,” Touya says, and Katsuki can hear the smirk. “Although we would have to call in for the day, and I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t end up with clothes on. You’d also probably need to take the day after off because I would—”
Katsuki hangs up, hating how red his cheeks are. He pulls his boxers and jeans on, having to tuck his now fully hard cock against his leg, hoping his coat will obscure it so that the ex-villain doesn’t notice it.
————————————
ON THE 11TH DAY OF CHRISTMAS
MY TRUE LOVE GAVE TO ME…
The sound of something loud landing on Katsuki’s front porch has him flying off the couch.
“I’ll get you this time you fucking—fuck!”
His attempt to reach the door is thwarted by his throw blanket tangling around his legs, tripping him, making him land belly first on the hard floor. He shoves up right away, kicking the blanket off, but by the time he reaches the front door, there’s no one in sight, just a large box right in front of the door.
“I will fucking kill you!” Katsuki screams.
He grits his teeth and grabs the box, which is surprisingly heavy. He brings it into the house, setting it down just outside the genkan so he can shut the door.
He rubs his hands over his face, frustrated and furious, before stepping up to the box. He lifts the lid and his eyes blow wide at the ELEVEN POTS AND PANS inside, all stainless steel, heavy bottom pans, stamped with the Yoshikawa brand symbol on the wooden handles.
“Shit,” he mumbles, lifting the first piece out, turning it over. “Maybe I won’t fucking kill them.”
He sighs and puts the pot back in, lifting the box to carry it over to the kitchen. He turns the sink on and soaps up the sponge, pulling the pieces out one by one as he scrubs them, setting them on the rack to dry.
His phone rings and he looks over, seeing Izuku’s face on the screen, covered in mustard from an incident several years ago. He huffs a small laugh, reaching over to use the side of his hand to answer and put the speaker on.
“What d’ya want, nerd?” Katsuki grouses.
“Did you ever figure out what was going on with the stuff showing up at your house?” Izuku questions.
“It’s just those fucking idiots,” Katsuki says with a sigh. “There’s no way it could be anyone else.”
Izuku fails to muffle a giggle. “Are you sure, Kacchan?”
“Positive,” Katsuki says, narrowing his eyes and turning the water off. “What the fuck are you on about?”
“I just had an idea, but I could be wrong,” Izuku says. “Just something I’ve noticed lately.”
“And that would be?” Katsuki drawls.
“Nothing, I’m sure I’m wrong,” Izuku says, and then snorts softly. “Have a good day, Kacchan.”
“Hang on a fucking second!” Katsuki shouts, but the line clicks off and he scowls furiously. He turns the water back on, gritting his teeth as he washes the next of the pans. “Fuckin’ nerd. No idea what the fuck he’s talking about. Who the fuck else would know this shit about me, hah?”
A knock sounds on the front door and Katsuki huffs as he shuts the water off, placing the last of the pans on the drying rack. He wipes his hands on a dish towel and swiftly moves over to the front door, tugging it open.
“Good morning, sunshine,” Touya says, and Katsuki gives him a flat look. The man just chuckles and holds out one of the two coffees in his hands. “C’mon, let’s go.”
“Fine,” Katsuki says, grabbing his coat and shoving one arm in before grabbing the coffee from him.
“So, what’d you get today?” Touya questions, looking down at the distinct print of a large box on the porch. “Something very raunchy, I hope.”
“Fucking pots and pans,” Katsuki says, stepping outside and tugging his door shut and locking it.
“Aw, you gonna cook me somethin’ good with ‘em?” Touya asks.
“Fuck you,” Katsuki snaps, shoving his keys into his pocket as he starts walking. “Why the fuck would I cook for you?”
“Because I’m your favorite,” Touya says easily as he falls into step beside the blonde.
Katsuki squints at him. “You kidnapped me.”
Touya groans loudly. “Are you still hung up over that?”
“You kidnapped me!” Katsuki shouts.
“Do you want me to kidnap you again?” Touya asks, raising a brow. A slow, devilish smirk curls his lips. “Oh, you want me to chain you up again, eh?”
Katsuki’s coffee explodes in his hand.
————————————
ON THE 12TH DAY OF CHRISTMAS
MY TRUE LOVE GAVE TO ME…
Katsuki is perched up in the tree just outside his house. His entire body is shivering even with thermal underwear, his thickest pants, snow pants, sweater, and winter coat on. His mittens have done little to keep his hands warm and he kinda of wishes he’d just taken his gauntlets home.
But he will not fail this time.
He’d gone to bed hours earlier than usual last night, and he’s been up in this tree since a little after midnight. He’s not positive on the time, as he hadn’t taken his phone with him.
Shit like this isn’t exactly new for him though, so it’s not something entirely out of the realm of his usual workings. But he still fucking hates winter—and stealth missions. But his Quirk is fucking explosions, and he was not made for stealth.
He sees a figure in a black coat walking up to his front gate, carrying a box and he narrows his eyes. The frame is fairly slender, but the set of the shoulders is strong. There’s not much on the chest, so it’s obviously not Mina, and it’s too tall to be Kyouka anyway.
It’s not tall enough to be Eijirou, who is now a fucking giant after having a Quirk evolution after a traumatic incident a couple years back.
So, it’s either Hanta or Denki.
The figure makes their way toward his front stoop and Katsuki slowly slides his gloves off and rubs his hands together as he narrows his gaze on the culprit who has been haunting his days recently.
When the person leans over to place the box down, Katsuki launches himself forward with a blast. The person quickly swivels around and starts running to the gate.
“Not this fucking time!” Katsuki shouts, altering his course.
He lets off the largest blast he can with how cold his hands are, and manages to pin the person down face first in the snow. He cackles loudly and parts his legs, straddling the person as he flips them over to look down at them. He grabs the black scarf obscuring the person’s face and tugs it out of the way.
He goes still in absolute shock when he is not met with Hanta or Denki.
Or literally anyone else he would have expected.
“What the fuck,” he chokes out.
“This is a nice view, doll,” Touya drawls, a lazy smirk curling his lips, tugging harshly at the staples in his cheeks and chin.
“You?” Katsuki says, eyes wide. “What the fuck!”
“I hope you liked them all,” Touya says, that cocky expression still firmly on his face. “It’d be so nice to help you with some of them though.”
“Fuck you,” Katsuki says, his face heating up. “What the fuck is in the box today?”
“Why don’t you go see?” Touya says, giving him a wink.
Katsuki scowls, but stands up, harshly grabbing Touya by the front of his coat and dragging him over to his house. He swipes up the medium sized box and shoves open his door, tugging Touya in with him.
He locks the door and plants himself in front of it as he opens the box. His heart is beating wildly, part of him hoping it’s nothing remotely sexual, while another part of him wants it to be something absolutely lewd.
He blinks in surprise when he sees TWELVE MIYABI KNIVES inside. There’s a magnetic holder behind them, and he pulls it out, making a sound of surprise.
“These are my favorite knives,” he mutters.
“I know,” Touya says, sitting down and shoving his boots off. “Shit, it’s hot in here. What the hell?”
“Why the fuck did you get me so much shit?” Katsuki demands. His mind goes back to their conversation from yesterday and he scowls harshly. “Is this fucking pity for when you kidnapped me?”
Touya scoffs and looks up at him as he unzips his coat. “Do I look like the type to pity someone?”
Katsuki scrunches his nose up, but grumbles out a small, “No. Shut up.”
“There ya go,” Touya says cheerfully, dropping his coat on the floor. “You gonna make breakfast?”
“Seriously?” Katsuki says, arching a brow.
“I’m actually pretty sure you’ve got my favorite,” Touya says, tilting his head, his eyes darkening. “You ever been eaten out, doll?”
Katsuki’s eyes go wide and he nearly drops the knives. “What the fuck?”
“You say that a lot,” Touya points out. “I’ve noticed something about you, y’know.”
He stands up, taking a step closer to the blonde, who swallows thickly. Touya hums, tilting his head as he reaches out, taking the knives from Katsuki and placing them on the entryway table.
“You like being close to me,” Touya says. “You push Red and Sparky away when they get close, but not me.”
“You’re warm,” Katsuki says, crossing his arms. “Stop reading into it.”
“Personally, I also like being around you,” Touya continues. “You’re so much fun, doll. I would love to have you under me, writhing in pleasure.”
“I will fucking report you for breaking parole,” Katsuki warns.
“I’m not breaking parole,” Touya says. “I have to be with a licensed hero, Dynamight.”
Katsuki scoffs and shoves him back. “I ain’t gonna fuck you just because I meet your criteria.”
He sneers heavily, an anger building in his chest along with an ache he tries to ignore. He grabs the doorknob, his other hand moving to flip the bolt, but a large, scarred hand slams into the wooden frame, stopping his movements. The searing heat from Touya nearly burns Katsuki’s back as he steps up behind him, leaning over to let his breath fan across Katsuki’s ear.
“You are my criteria, doll,” Touya says, voice husky and low.
He slides his hand down to Katsuki’s, and then glides it up along the blonde’s jacket-clad arm. When he reaches his shoulder, he pulls the thick material back and leans in to kiss Katsuki’s neck, making him suck in a sharp breath. Touya hums a pleased sound and trails his lips along Katsuki’s skin.
The blonde tilts his head slightly, hating how much he wants to give in to this.
Touya’s other hand goes up to Katsuki’s hair and grips the roots, tugging his head to the side, fully exposing his neck so Touya can sink his teeth into his soft skin.
“Touya!” Katsuki gasps, the sound mixed with a moan as his cock swells in his pants.
“Fuck, yes,” Touya says as he pulls away. “You’re so fucking strong, aren’t you, Katsuki? But you want me, I can see it in your eyes. You want me to make you mine.”
“Sh-shut up,” Katsuki says.
Touya harshly smacks his ass. “Don’t lie to me, doll.”
“Fuck off,” Katsuki says, his chest tightening.
“Last chance, Kitty-Kat,” Touya says, clicking his tongue. “Either admit you want me, or I’m going to leave and ask to be reassigned.”
“No!” Katsuki blurts out, his cheeks heating up.
“Three…” Touya says. “Two…”
“Fine!” Katsuki shouts. “Fucking fine, okay!? Yes! I jerk off to thoughts of you fucking me, I dream about you using me. Is that what you want to fucking hear!?”
Touya snarls out an animalistic sound as he grabs Katsuki’s shoulders, roughly turning him to face the burned man so he can crash their lips together. He bites down on Katsuki’s lower lip, tugging on it and eating up the moan the blonde lets out.
He doesn’t let Katsuki move away as he starts shoving his coat off his arms, then moves to tug his snow pants off his body. When he does let the blonde finally fill his lungs, he quickly steals his breath again by gripping Katsuki’s shirt and tugging it up over his head.
But he doesn’t let the blonde get his hands out; instead, he twists the sleeves and uses the material as a makeshift rope to bind his wrists together. Katsuki’s eyes go wide, but Touya just chuckles darkly and grabs the middle of the binding, using it to drag Katsuki down to his bedroom.
He roughly shoves the blonde down onto the bed and rips his pants from his legs, his palms lighting up with his excitement, singeing the fabric. Katsuki nearly shouts at him, but Touya narrows his eyes and the blonde swallows down his retort.
“Good Kitty,” Touya says, and Katsuki shudders at the praise.
Touya chuckles as he pulls the thermal underwear down, his eyes lidding when they land on Katsuki’s cock, which is dripping already, the head flushed a violent red.
Touya bites his damaged lower lip as he rubs Katsuki’s thighs, pushing them up to his chest, folding the blonde. He licks his lips as he climbs onto the bed.
He moves his grip to Katsuki’s ass, pulling his cheeks apart and groaning when the man’s hole twitches in anticipation.
“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure my Kitty feels good,” Touya murmurs as he leans in to lick a stripe up Katsuki’s taint.
“Fuck!” Katsuki gasps.
Touya gathers up plenty of saliva as he leans in, and lolls his tongue out, dripping his spit over the man’s hole. Katsuki shivers at the new feeling as Touya licks a circle around his hole before pressing his tongue inside.
The staples on his cheeks rub harshly against his skin, but the scraping just adds to the pleasure. Katsuki tries to hold still, but he can’t help the way he squirms to try to get the man’s tongue deeper.
Touya hums a pleased sound as he wiggles his tongue, pulling it out to lick around him again before planting his lips over the hole and sucking. Katsuki chokes out a moan at the sensation and Touya pulls away to gather up another glob of spit to add to the mess he’s making.
He plunges his tongue back in, thrusting the muscle as deep as he can, loving the moans the blonde lets out, and delighting in the way he clenches around his tongue.
He sucks again and Katsuki curses as his cock jolts, his chest heaving at the feeling. He’s not even aware of the moans escaping him or the way his cock is drooling against his stomach.
Touya pulls back to gather up more saliva, but this time he uses a finger to push the spit in, curling it to rub Katsuki’s prostate as he licks up to his balls. He sucks one into his mouth as he ruthlessly thrusts his finger, soon adding a second to the mix.
Touya releases his balls and pulls his fingers out, moving down to thrust his tongue back inside, and then sucks again and Katsuki shouts, some cum dribbling from his cock as he tries to hold off on his orgasm. Touya pulls back to lob some more spit onto his hole and then jams three fingers in.
“Now now, be a good Kitty and wait until my cock is in you,” Touya says, his voice nearly a purr.
Katsuki whines, but nods, biting on his lower lip. Touya smirks at the sight, loving how obedient the little hero is under his touches. It has a fire building in his chest, one that demands he stake a claim on the gorgeous man he’s been pining over from afar.
“Where are all the fun things I gave you?” Touya questions.
“On the dresser,” Katsuki says, voice pitched up and shaky.
“Good boy,” Touya coos, pulling his fingers out and quickly walking over, noting that one of the cock rings is gone, and he smirks as he grabs another.
He slides his hands along the butt plugs too, and grabs the second to the largest size. He walks over to the bed and leans over the blonde to kiss him, thrusting his tongue into his mouth, ensuring the man’s mouth is a pool of saliva before pulling back and shoving the plug past his lips.
“Slick that up for me, doll,” Touya says and Katsuki nods, a little dazed.
Touya moves back down to Katsuki’s hole, pulling his cheeks apart to go back to licking around his hole, making him twitch. Katsuki’s moans are muffled by the plug, but he can’t help the way he presses closer to the burned man, feeling levels of pleasure like never before and the man hasn’t even touched his cock.
Touya pulls away from his hole and leans up to pluck the plug from Katsuki’s mouth. A thick line of saliva connects him to the toy, and Touya leans in to lick along Katsuki’s lips, breaking the line.
He shuffles back and rubs the plug around Katsuki’s hole before slowly pressing it in. He knows it’s going to sting, being larger than his three fingers, so he eases it in with short thrusts, ebbing it further in with each movement until the widest part passes the muscled ring and his hole practically sucks it in.
“Fuck!” Katsuki gasps.
“Almost,” Touya muses.
He slides the cock ring onto Katsuki’s length, and the blonde moans at the light contact, feeling like all his nerves are on fire. When Touya turns the vibration on, Katsuki nearly screams as his orgasm is ripped from him, his dick squirting out ropes of cum that Touya catches in his hand, using his other to turn the ring off.
Katsuki is too out of it to see the way Touya uses the blonde’s cum to coat his cock, but he blinks his eyes open, unsure of when he’d closed them, when he feels the man pull the plug out. Touya guides his dick to Katsuki’s hole, using one hand to pull the man’s cheek to the side. He groans as he slowly pushes in, muttering out curses as he sinks in.
Katsuki clenches around him and Touya hisses at the vice grip, smacking the man’s ass. “Relax, Kitty.”
Katsuki closes his eyes and tries to force his ass to calm down, his teeth gritted. “Forgive me for never taking a real cock up my ass before.”
Touya pauses halfway in, his eyes going wide as he gawks at the man. “You—”
“Fuck off, I’m not a virgin,” Katsuki snaps.
“But you’ve never…” Touya trails off.
“No,” Katsuki says, eyes still squeezed shut. “No one ever thought the big, angry hero would want to bottom.”
“Oh, Katsuki,” Touya says with a groan as he sinks the rest of the way in. “I am going to ruin you.”
“If you don’t, I will never talk to you again,” Katsuki says, cracking his eyes open.
Touya grins wickedly, pushing on Katsuki’s legs to fold them up toward his chest, squishing his bound hands up against his pecs. He hums as he slowly pulls out, and then slams back into him, immediately setting a brutal pace that has the blonde choking on his own threats.
Touya reaches one hand down to the man’s cock, which is quickly swelling back up, and he flips the ring on. Katsuki shouts and Touya leans over him to kiss his lips, loving the way the man submits to his desires, letting him dominate the kiss. He groans as he pulls away, kissing down the blonde’s neck to suck on his pulse point.
“Touya,” Katsuki moans.
“Yes, Kitty?” Touya says, his own breathing picking up as the pleasure quickly builds.
“More,” Katsuki says.
Touya blinks in surprise, having expected the opposite.
“Oh, fuck, you are perfect, aren’t you?” Touya says.
He pulls out and grabs the shirt binding the blonde’s hands. He uses it to tug the man up as he shuffles him up to his headboard. He harshly turns him around, shoving Katsuki face first against the wall, pushing his arms up over his head.
He grips his cock as he moves behind the man, finding his prize and thrusting up into him. He pauses only for a moment to rip his shirt off, throwing it to the side. He grabs Katsuki’s hips to pull him down against his cock as he slams up into him, unknowingly making one of the blonde’s fantasies come to life.
Katsuki shouts as he cums, making a mess of his headboard and pillows, but he can’t possibly find it in himself to care as Touya continues to pound into him, his cock rubbing along his prostate with every thrust, making him see stars.
“Fuck, Katsuki,” Touya groans, the man’s insides clenching around him so deliciously.
Katsuki garbles out something unintelligible, but his cheeks flush as he says it, so Touya grips his hair and tugs his head back, forcing the man to look at him.
“What was that?” Touya pants out. “Come on, be my good Kitty.”
Katsuki locks eyes with Touya, his pupils so blown the red of his irises are only slivers.
“Use me.”
Touya slams his lips against Katsuki’s as he cums, burying himself deep inside as his body twitches with the intensity of his orgasm. He continues to mutter out broken curses as Katsuki’s ass milks his dick, making him groan and grunt into their kiss.
“God,” Touya chokes out as he parts from the kiss just to drop his head against the blonde’s shoulder. “Fuck, I think I’m in love with you.”
Katsuki’s face flushes a violent shade of red and he squirms, the ring on his cock still going, but Touya just hums thoughtfully as he pulls out. He tugs Katsuki against his chest, curling his arms around him as he unwraps his wrists, the fabric slightly burnt from mini explosions. Touya lets out a long exhale and kisses Katsuki’s cheek while the blonde pulls the ring off, squeezing the top until it stops.
“I say we take a nice, long bath, order in something for lunch, and then I’ll clean up the bed while you take a nap,” Touya says.
“What?” Katsuki says, tilting his head, his nose scrunching up with his confusion.
“I told you, you’re mine,” Touya says, kissing over the bite mark he’d left earlier. “And I plan to take good care of my Kitty.”
Katsuki’s cheeks heat up. “Whatever, just stop with the fucking presents.”
“Today was the last day,” Touya says with a chuckle.
“Random,” Katsuki murmurs.
“Don’t you know the song?” Touya questions, humming the tune as he kisses Katsuki’s jaw. “On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me…”
“Oh my God, no,” Katsuki says, pushing away from the other man, who snickers. “No, that’s too fucking sappy.”
“Maybe,” Touya says, standing from the bed and walking off toward the bathroom. “I’ll go start the bath.”
“Whatever,” Katsuki murmurs, running a hand through his hair. He pauses suddenly when the sound of the bath reaches his ears and he raises his head. “Wait, why the fuck do you know where my bathroom is!?”
Touya’s maniacal cackle sounds and Katsuki groans as he flops onto his back.
“Seriously?” He grumbles. “This is who I fucking fall for?”
“Aw, that’s sweet,” Touya says from right next to the bed and Katsuki’s eyes snap open as his cheeks heat up.
Touya just winks and scoops Katsuki up into a bridal carry, which has the blonde blushing even darker.
“What the fuck,” he chokes out.
“I told you, I’m gonna take care of my Kitty,” Touya says, planting a smacking kiss on Katsuki’s temple.
Touya sets Katsuki on his feet when they reach the tub, and the blonde winces. Touya grumbles as he climbs into the tub, holding out his hands to help Katsuki climb in front of him, sitting between his parted legs.
“We didn’t even shower first,” Katsuki says.
“Don’t care,” Touya says, wrapping his arms around the blonde, pulling him against his chest.
Katsuki lets himself melt into the hold, and Touya smiles as he looks at the man, feeling impossibly soft as he kisses his head.
“It’s a good thing I told Deku you were taking two weeks off for Christmas vacation starting today, huh?” Touya says.
Katsuki jolts upright. “I’m missing work!”
Touya scoffs, pulling him back against his chest. “I just told you, you’re on vacation. Two weeks of me being with you all day, every day.”
“I’ll kill you,” Katsuki grumbles as he leans back against Touya, who snorts softly.
“Just wait, doll, by the time your vacation is up, we will have fucked on every surface of this house,” Touya says and Katsuki bites his lower lip. Touya chuckles and kisses his shoulder. “And you’ll be totally in love with me.”
“Now that would be a Christmas miracle,” Katsuki grouses.
Touya shrugs, a shit eating grin pulling his lips. “If that doesn’t work, I’ll just kidnap you again.”
#dabibaku#bakudabi#dbbk#dabi x bakugou katsuki#my hero academia#my hero fanfic#aot fanfiction#ao3 link#smut#christmas#crack fic
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Top Fashion Tips for Every Season from Codaisy Fashions
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✨ main verse.
side blog for moonrevolutions!!!! wip... just... im working on it.
name: virote srisati.
age: 29 ( birthday july 21st. )
zodiac: cancer sun, capricorn moon, cancer rising, virgo venus.
religion: pantheist ( former buddhist. )
sexuality: homosexual.
voice: ( CLICK. ) he has a thai accent. more soft spoken in tone than you’d anticipate, which makes his insults and foul mouthed language even more scathing.
species: he’s basically half-alien???
ethnicity: thai-chinese
height: 5'0".
financial class: upper. so upper that it’s insane.
place of birth: bangkok, thailand.
current location: san francisco, california. but this is also verse dependent.
languages: thai, mandarin, english, japanese, korean, portuguese, spanish ( very, very basic. )
occupation: art therapist. can be found in hospitals, schools, and rehab centers. or public events centered around mental health and art for groups like the lgbt. also works a couple nights a week at a dance studio called motionbox studios. and, last but not least, he’s got a side gig of being a life coach. only through phone consultation. he’s certified!
political affiliation: progressive. was a social-anarchist back in the day.
education:
graduated high school, salutatorian, top of his class.
majored in studio art and art history.
has minors in: business - consumer behavior, peace and conflict studies, dance.
art therapy licensing.
4.8gpa, he’s smart and he’s ballin’.
abilities:
it’s your neighborhood cosmic deity / space oddity! moderately psychic with his clairvoyance, clairsentience + empath intuition. has mastered a handful of divination methods. crystal and mirror gazing are his favorites.
heightened spiritual senses. if there’s a ghost, he will see it. might even fight it, you don’t know his life!
aura reading.
folks on his father’s side are pretty famous in southeast asia for being incredible seers, exorcists, demon exterminators, and healers.
channels energy from all celestial bodies for spells. for example: black holes for curses, jupiter for luck, new moons for banishing, etc.
can tell the position of any planet / celestial body at any time. connected to the cosmos, itself.
may know some form of cosmic manipulation, but that’s something he likes to keep under wraps. invoking solar winds, meteor showers, transmutation of space, etc.
he’s a descendant of jan, a thai personification of the moon. mercury, as well since they basically started the beginning of the family tree on his mother’s side of the family. read more about that here. so while he’s human, he’s not… completely human. nonhuman/supernatural muses can probably sense something isn’t quite… completely human about him.
magic is incredibly conditional. depending on retrogades, lunar cycles, planetary aspects, etc.
could turn the earth in a fine powder if he wanted. not to be fucked with.
will banish malicious creatures if you buy him cheesecake.
overall, not to be fucked with.
family:
mother ( 52, nuntida srisati ), father ( 53, udom srisati ). alive, still married.
sister ( 14 ), sanoh.
other stuff:
blood type: o.
allergies: none.
mental illness: c-ptsd, bipolar ii, bpd, severe depression.
physical ailments: none.
vices / addictions: alcohol, on his worst days. occasionally smokes marijuana and herb / flowers ( blue lotus, wild dagga, yarrow, etc. ) may dabble in drugs. has went to rehab for this.
misc: autism, barely diagnosed. it’s complicated.
piercings: five in each ear.
styles: decadent, beautiful, everything is straight from the runway. think of 2000s, meets 90s, meets instabaddie, with a splash of mall goth. bdsm inspired accessories, vintage dior, every single item he wears is more expensive than your rent for an entire year. a lot of mini skirts and silk slip dresses. faux fur coats. latex, satin, and suede. he goes to the gas station for milk in a bodycon dress, ralph & russo eden pumps, and a philipp plein jacket. hard to describe, so just go here. sleek silhouettes, form fitting, elegant.
https://moonspower.tumblr.com/archive/tagged/%F0%9F%8C%99%20wardrobe!%20only%20mars%20burns%20so%20bright.
negatives: somewhat aloof at times, completely detached when stressed, prone to worrying too much, prone to fits of depression and severe anxiety, big temper, foul mouth.
positives: creative, humorous, very willing to listen, intuitive, witty and sharp, incredibly intelligent, calm in situations where others panic, bold.
interests / talents: herbal healing, gemology, gardening, dancing, arguing on the internet, various visual art mediums, fortune telling / divination, listening to music of all kinds, astrology, studying slugs and moths. he has a revolving door of hobbies!
the rundown:
moved to america when he was about thirteen-years-old. had a semi-hard time trying to assimilate to the culture.
his father owns an alcohol brand, various vineyards, and holds shares in other business endeavors ( making him a multimillionaire, borderline billionaire, in the process. ) his mother’s side of the family invests in clinics across asia. this man has money and way too much of it.
grew up a fairly normal life, outside of wrestling with his own mental illnesses. oftentimes, he finds himself feeling bad for having any complaints about his life due to family wealth, status, and overall privilege of getting whatever money can buy.
enjoys several styles of dance! contemporary, hiphop, vogue, tektonik, and samba are his favorites. as a child, he wanted to be an acrobat and contortionist. he doesn’t practice much these days, but he still has little dreams of performing in cirque du soleil. artistic movement, in general, has brought a lot of meaning to his life.
drives a black lykan hypersport.
has a black cat named kikimora. she looks a little strange.
lives in a penthouse covered in paintings and whatever other artwork he’s conjured over the past two or three years! the place is very nice and very luxe with a great view.
enjoys doing charity work of all kinds, especially during the holidays. catch him volunteering anywhere at any moment.
english is never spoken with family and he has an accent, it makes him feel a touch on the insecure side. that doesn’t stop him from becoming talkative, though.
can be found in art museums, cafes, bars, book stores, metaphysical shops, and music stores in his downtime. occasionally, you can find him telling fortunes on the streets either with his cards or the art of palm reading / palmistry.
fr tho he can kinda be an asshole lol be he means well.
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The Canvas simply feels like auth Canvas is meant to feel, it's not too free and never too stiff. It has a pleasant sheen to it, with out being too shiny. The color is pure chocolatey-deliciousness, I love that heat tone of brown, it is simply so beautiful!
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