#writing tips with the cryptid

[witchwitchyway]

Go hiking. Fake your death. Become one with the forest. Elevate to forest god. The simple things.

[hobgobknowsbest]

Just Goblin Things™

never throwing clothes away, only patching them up

eating out of trash cans/off the floor

THEFT

belching. loudly.

stick-n-poke tattoos!

you call it graffiti, we call it making boring surfaces more interesting

what are utensils...?

shaving with a rusty switchblade. when we shave.

expensive makeup? when you can simply rub charcoal around your eyes...?

creative swearing

ignoring people but having full conversations with their dogs/cats

YES I need that random piece of junk on the ground

scaring the absolute shit out of people with zero effort

cackling

[revelboo]

Your most recent installation of Bad Idea has me screaming. Love all your portrayals of the characters, esp cryptid slenderbot.

Thank you! I have a lot of fun writing these

Bad Idea Pt 12

TFP Soundwave x Reader

• That little hitching noise you make as he adjust his tendril about you sinks into him. Almost scandalous with the desire to see if he can coax that sound from you again. Knowing he should stop before things get too out of hand, but tempted to keep going even knowing this isn’t meant for him. That he doesn’t deserve to ask for this when you give him so much already. Graspers still holding those small wrists, the skin contact strengthens that connection to you, letting you spill into him processor until he’s almost drowning in you, your thoughts and emotions. Your need sparking through him until he needs more.

• Shuddering against his hold, you bite into the inside of your cheek. He can’t possibly know what he’s doing to you, and you know you need to stop him before you come apart to that lovely friction and embarrass both of you. But you want to pretend it’s intentional, that he does know. Almost whimpering as his head tips closer and his other tendril coils about you, lifting you off your feet. Seeing your own flushed face in his visor as one of the other tendril’s graspers brushes your bottom lip. “Please,” you protest, not sure of you’re asking him to stop or keep going, body trembling as he watches you. Probably not understanding why you’re trembling, but then he’s so tactile that of course he’s going to keep doing it out of curiosity. Armor panels lifting slightly when you rock yourself against the coil of his tendril when it slides against you. Knowing you’re going to be absolutely mortified later about grinding against him like a teenager in the backseat of a car, but unable to care right then.

• Stroking over him, the way you say his name in that breathy whisper of need curls about his spark. Fascinated with those little noises and knowing they’re because of him. For him. Frame bowing over you, servos splayed on the surface he’s holding you suspended over. Wants to see you come apart for him, hear his name on your lips, a plea or a curse, he doesn’t care. Just wants this. A hand sliding over his chassis, long servos stroking over himself, reaching to free his spike as you arch in his grip with a ragged gasp. The connection flaring as more of your thoughts seep into him. Feeding his own need. “Soundwave.” That harsh, snarling recording of Megatron’s voice brings his head snapping up. Finding Lazerbeak staring at him in open disapproval. Reminding him of his duties. Venting roughly, he reluctantly eases you down and retreats. Struggling to get himself back in control.

• You’re going to kill that stupid turkey. Butt hitting the cold, metal surface as he, Soundwave, draws back, his head tips up toward big bird, and you almost want to cry, because you’d been so close. But you finally have a name for him, though, he couldn’t have just left you both alone a little bit longer? No, because he hates you. Running a shaky hand over your face as you try to calm your racing heart feeling the embarrassment now that the high is out of reach. Shooting you a look that you’re almost certain is smug, the drone docks against Soundwave and he reaches out a servo to touch your cheek. And just leaves you there more frustrated than you’ve ever been in your entire life as you watch him go out the door and want to call after him. Beg him to come back and finish what he started.

• Putting some distance between himself and temptation, he can feel Lazerbeak’s annoyed disapproval spilling into his processor. Can still feel the visceral ache of your need and desire humming through him even as he loses the feel of your mind tangled in his with distance until you’re just a warm, frustrated buzz in the back of his processor. He’d been so close to giving in, mass shifting and taking what he needs, wanting to lose himself in the feel of another’s body and mind. To forget the past just for a short time and only feel. And he hates himself for that, because Lazerbeak is a constant reminder of all of his failures, the ones he hadn’t been able to save. Knows happiness isn’t meant for him no matter how much he wants it. That you’re not meant for him.

Previous

Next

[alilobsessive]

I have probably sent you an ask before about this but idk I NEED someone to make something from this idea:

Neglected!Wayne as Bob Belcher inspired

The early season crashouts, the struggling to pay the bills….it’s glorious

OR OR for a more like ‘different’ au:

Bruce Wayne falls in love with a struggling single parent with three kids, a burger shop that SHOULD be renowned worldwide, and a shitload of debt

🎤

Omg omg, okay, so I admittedly never watched Bob’s burgers I have seen clips, obviously. So I can’t in good conscience write this. I will never be able to do it justice, not until I binge watch at least a season or two or more, maybe the movie. But you’re definitely on to something.

If we’re going for option A

Neglected Wayne is probably about the same age as Dick, maybe older. None of there kids are that old 6 at the oldest. There desperately trying to keep the Restaurant going, this has been there dream since they were young! Not the running a Burger Place part but running a Restaurant, beggars can’t be choosers and you picked a Burger Place solely to spite the chain restaurants and Batburger’s that keep popping up. They desperately don’t want to contact there family for financial help. There relationship with them is awful and Reader would rather die then contact them. But one night during an attempted robbery at the restaurant all of that changes. You’re back on Bats radar, not just you but your whole family and that is not a good thing.

B though, I think it would be hilarious to see Bruce is kid and the medias reaction to him falling in love with this stressed and sarcastic single parent. Like

Reader: *Drenched in sweat, eye bags under eye bags, makeup? Don’t know her. Trying to stuff one of there kids into a hamburger costume in some big to gain more visitors or the restaurant will close for the 5th time. Another one is trying to blackmail and guilt trip a customer into tipping extra. The oldest is aggressively typing away at there phone writing 100 wpm, creating what can only be described as a 2010 pre-teen fanfiction. That in realty is mid at best but looks like high art to her.*

Bruce Wayne: *pining aggressively*

Bat kids: Really? You have women that could become supermodels if they wanted at your beck and call. Man that could revile gods swooning like teenager girl when you just glance at them? And you want that? That’s why to normal for you are you feeling okay?

The Media: Really? You have women that could become supermodels if they wanted at your beck and call. Man that could revile gods swooning like teenager girl when you just glance at them? And you want that?

Maybe instead of Bruce coming over as well Bruce Wayne it’s as Batman.

Picture this, your a single parent running a family owned Burger place in Gotham City. It’s a miracle you��� aren’t secretly a front for something. One of your kids is at the cash register, the other two doing homework, it almost completely empty. Then suddenly you hear it “HOLY SHIT!” One of them screams as the bell jingles signaling another customer. Instantly you’re on edge unsure of its a bad holy shit or a good one then they continue “ITS FUCKING BATMAN!” And instantly there’s a stampede if tiny footsteps. You look out of the kitchen and see your kids crowding around Batman who is still at the door. “What are you doing here?!” “Why are you here” “Baba didn’t commit any crimes did they??” “Baba’s not cool enough to commit crimes idiot!” “When did Baba get cool!” You’re youngest snaps her head to look at you. “You committed crimes and didn’t include me!?” She says both shocked and offended, Batman, the Dark Knight, someone who was nothing more then a cryptid when you and your Ex Partner first started this business, slowly turns his head to look at you. You feel nothing but fear, a primal fear you thought was long forgotten as you make eye contact.

Without a word he orders enough food for a small army, making sense judging by the amount of protégés and coworkers he has. He then pays solely in hundred dollar bills, leaves a hundred dollar tip and then disappears into the dead of night not taking his change. To your horror and your kids glee not just the Batman but his entire posse become regulars.

We’re cooking! We’re cooking here!

And remember kids! Always support your local businesses! Steeling from large companies is not a crime! And if you’ve never been to a Burger place before that isn’t fast food, go to one ASAP it will change your life a swear!

[shaiyasstuff]

Hello Shaiya!! I have a request! Can you PLEASE make a Xavier x Reader/MC actor AU? I don't mind if you make it a one shot or headcanon. In this AU Xavier and MC are like the main leads in a romcom!! If you decide to write it then thank youu!!

Hi loveee! Of course I can. Ask and I shall deliver :)) hope this satisfies your request and needs. Xavier being an actor was wew, I almost didn’t know how to write this. But I did :D so here is actor Xavier.

“You’re still holding your coffee like a cryptid,” you say, watching him with a smirk as he grips the paper cup with both hands, fingers curled stiffly around it like it might bite him.

Xavier glances down, his silver brows drawing together in mild confusion. “Is this… not normal?”

“Not unless you’re trying to emotionally connect with it.”

He considers that for a moment, lips twitching. “Maybe I am. It hasn’t disappointed me yet.”

You laugh, leaning back against the bench.

He’s still in costume—a soft white sweater under a tan overcoat, hair tousled like the wardrobe team gave up halfway.

His blue eyes flick toward you, quietly attentive.

“You did the nose scrunch again,” you say softly.

He tilts his head. “I did?”

“Yeah. Every time the character says something flirty, you do this little—” You mimic the expression. It’s completely ridiculous.

“Like you’re offended by your own charm.”

Xavier blinks once. “It’s involuntary.”

“Adorable.”

He blushes.

Not dramatically—just a faint dusting of pink at the tips of his ears. He sips his coffee like it’ll help hide it.

There’s a comfortable silence, broken only by the distant sounds of the crew resetting lights and adjusting boom mics.

You glance at him again, catching the way he’s watching the extras go by, lost in thought.

“Do you ever think about what we’d be like if this wasn’t a film?” you ask, casually. Too casually.

Xavier blinks. “As in… if this was real?”

“Yeah. You and me. Running into each other in a bookstore. Bickering over the last copy of Pride and Prejudice. Accidentally falling in love.”

He looks at you, gaze softening. “I think you’d win the book.”

You laugh. “That’s all you got from that scenario?”

He hums. “Well, I wouldn’t stand a chance, would I? Not with you looking at me like that.”

Your smile falters just slightly. “Like what?”

Xavier doesn’t break eye contact. “Like you already know the ending.”

Silence falls again—heavier, warmer this time.

Neither of you move.

Somewhere, someone yells “Five minutes to reset!” but it feels distant.

Then he breaks it with a soft, unsure laugh. “That wasn’t in the script.”

You grin, heart thudding. “No. But maybe it should’ve been.”

Xavier looks down at the now-cold coffee in his hands, then back at you. “We should improvise more.”

And just like that, the director calls you both to set. The final kiss scene is next.

Neither of you quite remember your marks when the camera starts rolling.

The fake city park is bathed in the warm haze of studio sunset—artificial, but convincing.

The lights dim just enough to cast a golden glow on the bench where you and Xavier now stand, inches apart.

You’re both in character. Supposedly.

Your character has just confessed, eyes bright with tears, voice trembling with hope. His character is supposed to close the distance and kiss her like it’s the first day of forever.

The director calls, “Action!”

Xavier steps closer. Not the confident stride you rehearsed—this one is slower, more tentative, like he’s not quite sure he should.

His brows furrow, but not from the script.

His eyes—always too clear, too honest—search your face like he’s reading between the lines of something unsaid.

Your line catches in your throat. You deliver it anyway.

“Say something. Please.”

A beat. A breath.

“I think I fell for you the second you looked at me like I mattered,” he says.

Not the line.

You blink.

That’s not the line.

The script said something about fate and serendipity and a coffee shop.

But this—

This is different. More quiet. More real.

Your chest tightens, but you don’t say anything.

You can’t.

Because Xavier’s hand is now at your waist, fingers brushing tentative warmth over the thin fabric of your costume.

And his other hand rises slowly to your cheek.

His thumb barely grazes your skin, like he’s afraid to touch you fully.

And then—he kisses you.

It’s supposed to be a three-second kiss.

Soft. Clean. Fade to black.

But the moment your lips meet, something shifts.

It’s not choreographed.

It’s not clean.

It’s slow, and aching, and far too gentle for something pretend. His breath shudders against your mouth. His hand tightens at your waist.

You don’t know who leans in first for more—you or him—but the kiss deepens like it’s pulling from something hidden, something that’s been waiting in silence all along.

You feel his exhale. Feel the tremble in your fingers as they find the fabric of his coat.

He kisses you like he’s learning you.

Like he’s been trying not to.

Like he forgot the cameras existed.

And for a moment—you forget too.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours. Eyes closed. Breathing unsteady.

The silence is deafening.

Then—

“Cut!”

The director’s voice is distant.

Someone claps. Someone else mutters something about the lighting being perfect.

But neither of you move.

Xavier doesn’t let go. Not immediately.

When he finally does, it’s slow—his hand dragging reluctantly away from your waist, as though the parting hurts.

You glance up at him, heart pounding, lips still tingling. He opens his eyes. Blue, wide, unreadable.

“That—” you begin, but the words don’t come.

He beats you to it. Voice low. Rough. “That wasn’t acting.”

You swallow. “I know.”

And maybe the camera’s still rolling. Maybe the crew is watching. Maybe the whole world will see it someday.

But in that moment, none of it matters.

Because he’s looking at you like he just wrote a love story and finally realized it was real.

—•

“That was…” you trailed off as you walked deeper into your dressing room, the door shutting with a soft click behind you.

Xavier followed close behind.

“Xav—”

You stopped. Or maybe he stopped you.

He was suddenly just there—standing so close you could feel the heat radiating off him. His presence wrapped around you like gravity. Heavy. Inevitable.

Your breath hitched.

His eyes—blue, half-lidded, unreadable—searched your face. He didn’t say anything. Didn’t need to. The air between you buzzed with the unspoken.

You swallowed hard. You knew what that kiss had meant.

You wanted it too.

But—

“Xavier…” you started again, your voice a whisper that trembled under the weight of logic. “We have to think about—what people will say. Your fans. They—”

You flinched at the memory of the last actress tangled in rumors about him. How they tore her apart in interviews, on forums, in comments filled with venom.

You weren’t afraid of love.

You were afraid of what it would cost.

But your thoughts shattered the second his fingers brushed against yours.

Barely a touch. Delicate. Testing.

But it was enough to silence the noise in your head.

You didn’t pull away.

He didn’t either.

You looked up at him, lips parted, breath uneven.

“This… Xavier…” You said his name like it meant everything and nothing at once.

His gaze dropped to your joined hands, then slowly returned to yours, steady and sure. “I know.”

The quietness of his voice made it feel more intimate than any shout.

Then, he tilted his head—just slightly—and gave you that look.

That knowing look.

Calm on the surface, but laced with something smug beneath it.

He knew exactly what he was doing. Exactly what you wanted.

“Tell me this isn’t what you want,” he said, softly. Challenge humming just beneath his words.

You opened your mouth.

Closed it.

He was giving you an out.

You didn’t take it.

Instead, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding.

And whispered, “I can’t.”

That was all it took.

Xavier stepped closer—close enough that your back brushed against the vanity table. His hand slipped into yours, lacing his fingers through yours like it was the most natural thing in the world.

He didn’t kiss you again.

Not yet.

He just looked at you like you were the answer to a question he hadn’t known he’d been asking until now.

And for once—you didn’t feel like running from it.

—•

The next morning, something shifted.

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t dramatic. But it was there.

Xavier still held his coffee like a cryptid. You still teased him for it. He still did the nose scrunch whenever his character said something flirty.

But now, when the director called “Cut,” his hand lingered on yours just a second longer.

When the cameras stopped rolling, he’d lean in just close enough that your heart stuttered—like a secret only the two of you knew.

There were small things.

Like the way he started showing up at your trailer with your favorite snacks.

Or how he offered his coat between takes, even when you weren’t cold.

Or the way he looked at you, like the lines were blurring—on-screen and off—and maybe, he didn’t mind at all.

On the second-to-last day of shooting, the whole cast went out for drinks. Someone brought karaoke into the mix.

You weren’t sure who. Xavier didn’t sing, but he sat beside you with a soft smile as you belted out a chaotic duet with the lead supporting actor.

When you collapsed beside him, laughing, cheeks flushed and breathless, he didn’t say anything.

He just brushed your hair from your face and whispered, “You’re kind of magic, you know that?”

And you had to pretend your heart wasn’t doing somersaults.

On the last day of filming, the crew gifted everyone little wrap-up tokens.

Your gift was a photo. A still from that scene. The kiss. Golden hour melting across your faces, his forehead resting gently against yours.

You stared at it longer than you should have, fingers brushing over the glossy paper.

Xavier walked up beside you, holding his own wrapped gift. But he wasn’t looking at it.

He was looking at you.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

You nodded. “Just… feels like something’s ending.”

He was quiet for a moment, then said, “Not everything has to.”

You looked up. He looked nervous—Xavier, of all people.

The same man who could face fan mobs and chaotic press tours with a calm smile was now shifting from foot to foot like the floor might vanish under him.

“Do you want this to end?” he asked.

And you didn’t even hesitate.

“No.”

He let out a quiet breath of relief.

You smiled up at him. “But we’ll have to be careful.”

“I know,” he said. “We’ll take it slow. Quiet, if you want. I don’t care how long it takes. I just… I want to try. With you.”

You stepped forward, closing the small gap between you.

“And if your fans riot?” you teased, fingers brushing the hem of his sleeve.

“I’ll protect you,” he said easily. “With my coffee cup if I have to.”

You laughed, and he smiled like the sound made the whole world better.

The set was being dismantled behind you. Lights dimming, props packed away. People saying goodbyes.

But here, tucked just behind one of the now-empty sound stages, with your wrap gifts in hand and his fingers laced through yours—

It didn’t feel like an ending.

It felt like a beginning.

He kissed your temple, soft and unhurried.

And you, for the first time, didn’t worry about tomorrow.

Because Xavier was warm beside you, your hands fit just right, and maybe—just maybe—this was your real-life romcom after all.

[thegreatwicked]

Writing Resources

I'm back to working on more Obi-Cress and after finishing Padawan I needed to gather my thoughts and some resources because there are only so many ways to describe a kiss! Anyhow, wanted to put some of the great resources I've found across Tumblr here to share with you guys! Happy writing!

Writing Tips

How to Show Emotions @creativepromptsforwriting

Advice for Writing Relationships

The Smut Writers Dictionary @maybeeatspaghetti

How to Write Fight Scenes. @reachartwork

The Ultimate Masterlist @a-cure-for-writers-block

Show Don't Tell @modifieduchiha

How to Give Personality to a Character @bookished

Show, Don't Tell @lyralit

Words to Use Instead of Said @slayingfiction

Useful Websites for Writers @nakajimeow

Rare English Words @er-cryptid

Character Flaws by slayingfiction

Emotions in Writing @mems-sama

Little Romantic Gestures @jaylaxies

How to Go from Daydream to Draft by @endlessburningdarkness

Good Traits to Bad by @writers-potion

50 Questions for Your Characters by @3hks

Writing Help by @nsk96

Writing Resources by @1one2two3three4four

Killing Your Darlings: Writing Death by my lovely friend @chaotickimchi she did a bang up job on this bit! Give her a follow, she’s one hell of a writer!

Writing Prompts

Blossoming Romance Writing Prompts @eloquentmoon

Flirty Prompts URfriendlywriter

Touch Starved Prompts @jasminesfury

[directdogman]

Dogman, how do you write SO WELL!?!? I love all your characters and I need to know what/where you find inspo from...

Ha. Every writer is just someone who apes the creative processes of their inspirations. For video game writing specifically, there's two answers for me.

Toby Fox is always gonna be a huge inspiration for me. I've written plots and characters before and had to abandon ideas after realizing I'd accidentally written part of UT again. Even some of the ideas I used were undeniably inspired by UT in a subconscious way and ofc, I included several explicit references to UT in my last series. Toby's a very clever guy who likely pays very close attention to the art he consumes and tries to figure out how to maximize how much his work connects with his audience. Whatever his process is, it works.

The other answer is a lil funnier: Scott Cawthon, but specifically the legend, not the man. For context: Back in the earlier days of the FNaF fandom, people had a hyper-inflated view of Scott Cawthon's writing skills that largely came from how little of a presence he had back in those days. In the vacuum of Scott actually explaining his own process in detail, people got caught up in his genuinely creative way of hiding exposition in his games using cryptid and (then) unexpected methods, and a narrative formed (one that he's since refuted.)

While he never implied it tmk, fans broadly believed that he constructed these sweeping and complex narratives with tons of cohesive moving parts, with the games essentially acting like the mere tip of his lore iceberg. People even thought he wrote so much that he had whole games worth of lore outlined from the beginning! In the first Dawko interview he gave, he clarified that this wasn't the case and explained roughly what his process was (basically just outlining rough theme ideas + aesthetics for future titles.)

However, that legend made younger-me's mind run wild and any time I wrote a story, it became very difficult for me to not keep writing down ideas while completing the grunt work that followed me finishing my scripts. When I finished DSaF 1, I already had DSaF 2's draft written and by the time 2 was done, I had enough lore for a 3rd game on paper (and a lot more stuff that I didn't use.) By the time three was out, I had pages upon pages of unused concepts/story ideas and more or less just had to decide to call it quits or else I'd be pumping out entries forever!

That's why if you go back to those older games, there's references that directly refer to future plot-points in pretty casual/easy to miss ways. (Like Henry's mention in DSaF 1, Dave being heartless in DSaF 2, Jack being soulless in 1, and even Blackjack being Jack's soul in 2. Most of 3's major plotpoints are implied somewhere in 2 and some of 2's in 1.)

DT is much the same. By the time I finished writing it, I had fairly detailed drafts for arcs for each of the characters, some early material ended up getting completely recontextualized (and even modified in small ways to not conflict with the wider ideas I came up with.)

I get really into writing my stories/characters and I always wonder exactly how things ended up where they are, what characters think about but don't say, etc etc. This is why I have an obscene amount of Crown lore that I have very little to do with rn (since he impacted the whole world so deeply.)

This extra stuff also includes plenty of sequel material ideas, though I didn't think I'd even get a chance to use them since DT performed pretty meagerly before the big release and I was expecting to have to move onto something new. Though it turned out that Scott didn't actually write his games this way (by his own admission), it's the correct answer for what my core writing inspiration for writing game narratives is.

Hope this helps!

[zombieplaygrounds]

cw: hybrids, hare hybrid König afab! reader

summary: hare hybrid könig, anyone? mostly a joke fic that's been spinning in my head for a few months

So you're the picture perfect cottage core, forest living gal. Real off the grid - well, sort of, everyone needs their WiFi, right? Anyways you're up there with your little vegetable garden, spending most of your days roaming the forest and foraging. If you're not doing that, you're gardening. Little did you know..there's a hare in the woods. A big one too. You've heard the rumors from passing travelers - rumors that were big hybrids up in these woods. Horror stories too, sounds at night and the typical scary stuff that makes you sleep with your head under a blanket and a knife tucked under your pillow.

You weren't stupid - not to your own terms, anyways - but you were maybe a bit naïve. Especially when one early morning you wake up to the noise of something scritching at your door. So you tip toe your way to the door, knife tucked behind your leg and your bare feet quietly stepping on the planks that didn't creak. You check the peep hole...and nothing? Clearly, you've never watched a horror movie either. Because you open the got damn door and are met with the wide-eyed sight of a man sitting his ass down before the door. He was cute, maybe even a little disturbing. Wide uncanny eyes, freakishly fucking long. At first, you really did thing you had finally come across one of those cryptids you heard about online. And then he snuffled, nuzzling his face into your hip.

And like any living being with a soul, you took him in. Apparently, his name was König. He was very clearly a hare hybrid from hell. Ate whatever you fed him and ten times more. Also practically lived in your warmth. Occasionally tried to piss places he shouldn't, which met the wrath of your flying shoe. "Are you gonna let go?" You ask one day while you're gardening. He had been hugging you from behind for three hours now. It was cute at first..but it was getting a bit ridiculous.

"No." König rasped. His voice boyish and a bit raspy. But his words were enough to quickly end the conversation.

You also did try to kick him out in the past, gently, of course. Mostly little shoves about how it was spring and there were probably lots of yummy berries and vegetables sprouting up already. But he just kinda grunted and continued to nibble at the fucking rib-eye steak you made for yourself. Greedy bastard. It wasn't all bad though. Occasionally at night König would tuck you in real close to his chest, and he smelt pretty nice! His heart was always pounding rapidly. He'd nuzzle and sniff at you gently, which honestly was kinda nice when you were having trouble falling asleep.

"You smell good." You mumble, staring up at his wide eyed expression. König would chuff back at you, nibbling your flesh gently. "Because you are my girlfriend" "Oh! Yeah. That makes a lot of sense." "Wait..what?"

this was a not a joke fic please write more hare hybrid konig

[sleepyfan-blog]

Aranea posuere ultricies

Author’s note: this fic has been inspired by @cosmic-cryptid-from-beyond ‘s pocket titus sketches! Please check out her art! Thank you for letting me write this

Warnings: spiders, spider-killing, please ask me to tag if something bothers you/I missed it

Tagged: @egrets-not-regrets @the-pure-angel @i-am-a-dragon34 @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan @bleedingichorhearts

Tagged: @felinisnoctis

Summary: You acquire a small but fierce protector

You were fumbling with the keys to your front door, holding them in hand as you try to unlock your front door. As you attempt to put the key inside the lock, a large black spider slides down a hair-thin spider silk thread, nearly landing in your face.

You let out a startled shriek of surprise, stumbling backwards as fear and panic grip you. Your heart hammering in the back of your throat and adrenaline causing your body to tremble and freeze as you try to figure out what to do.

The black spider twists on the thin string of spider silk, revealing a bright red hourglass marking on it's abdomen.

More anxiety fills you as you clock that this is a venomous spider - one that could make you quite ill, if it bit you.

The best thing to do would be to somehow non-lethally move this Black Widow away from your door and place it somewhere in your garden... But you have no way of doing so without having to get into your home first...

Which would mean dodging the spider still dangling at eye level. You swallow dryly, still struggling to figure out what to do (and a small part of you feeling very silly about your panic) but you didn't want the spider to potentially crawl onto you, if you tried to dodge around it in order to get into your home.

Before you could make a decision, you felt a pair of tiny but heavy pair of feet land on one of your shoulders before the unexpected weight left you just as quickly.

A tiny Astartes yelled out what he clearly thought was a fierce battle cry "COURAGE AND HONOR!" as he swung a teeny-tiny hammer at the abdomen of the black widow that had been menacing you.

The blow struck true and spider guts splattered over several square inches of your front door.

You unfroze in time to carefully catch the little blue and gold colored tiny Astartes before he fell the rest of the way to the ground - or left a dent in your front door. "Thank you, my lord, for rescuing me." You murmur, having heard from co-workers and online posts how to best appease these tiny but fierce warriors.

The Astartes squeaks and wriggles in your hands in surprise "unhand me, mortal! I must continue my duties."

"As you wish. I was concerned about the fall relative to your size. Would you like something to eat in thanks for rescuing me?" You ask, carefully setting the tiny warrior down on the ground.

He stares up at you through his helmet for several seconds before answering "... Food would be most welcome... And I have fallen further than this. Your concern is..." he hesitates for a couple of moments before continuing "Welcome but unnecessary. Food would be gratefully accepted. I have not eaten in some time."

You nod, unlocking and opening your front door "After you." You murmur, not wanting to accidentally step on him "Unless you'd grant me the honor of carrying you to the kitchen?"

The small marine looked at your entryway, tensing as your cat - a loveable and very chatty coal black cat came trotting up to where you and he were standing with his usually creaky "Mreau!"

"I would like to be carried. Ideally on one of your shoulders, or in a hand or a chest pocket." The tiny marine declares, his helmet still pointed in your cat's direction.

Dixie sniffed curiously at the Astartes, the tip of his tail flicking back and forth.

You bend down and place one hand next to the marine so that he could climb up at his own pace. You reach out with your other hand to pet Dixie "Easy there, Dix. No mischief with our guest." And now you realize that you had yet to ask for the Astartes' name... Or give your own. "Would you like to share your name with me?" You give him your name "I apologize for not introducing myself earlier." You add.

"... I am Lieutenant Demetrian Titus of the Ultramarines Second Company." Titus answers after a few moments of hesitation. He removes his helmet, revealing a weathered and scarred but kind (and handsome) face with soulful greenish-blue eyes and short brown hair that frame his face. He climbs up onto your hand.

You set him on one of your shoulders and quickly move through your home to your kitchen. You set the lieutenant down on your kitchen counter before starting to rummage through the fridge, asking "Is there anything in particular you'd like? I have some left-over taco stuff, pasta with spaghetti, sandwich fixings... I also have some Ice cream and cookies, if you prefer something sweeter."

"I am unfamiliar with those food items. Astartes can eat nearly anything..." The little being answered, shifting a little as he answered "But I have been traveling for some time, and a hot meal would be a welcome indulgence."

You nod and grab two bowls as you're hungry too. You make sure that the bowl for the lieutenant is shallower so that he can better reach inside of it. A quick couple of minutes in the microwave and both bowls of food are steaming hot.

Titus ate quickly shoving handfuls of pasta and sauce into his mouth with his armored gauntlets "This is delicious, thank you."

You hum and smile "I'm glad you like it. Would you like some water to wash it down? I'm about to get myself some water, anyways."

"Water would be helpful. I need to clean my armor, as well as drink." Titus answers, before focusing once again on the food.

~

Weeks had passed and Titus, while he regularly wandered off, had become a regular member of your household.

Currently you were holding him in one hand, having helped the Astartes reach one of the insects encroaching on your property.

He looked so adorably pleased with himself you couldn't help it. You pressed a kiss to his forehead, murmuring "Thank you, for saving me from these awful bugs, Demetrian. Your swift movements and firm strikes slew the enemy handily."

Demetrian blushed, tucking his chin to his armored chest as he hands came up, flailing a little "I... I am merely doing my duty..."

"And you do it well, my lovely Angel." You earnestly compliment.

The Astartes blushes more and looks away from your face at your words, clearly struggling to regain his composure.

You chuckle softly and kiss the top of his head, murmuring "Too much praise, my knight-savior?"

"Yes... But... I... I crave it as well. I must... I must atone for this sin." Titus mumbled, still not looking up at you.

"... It's not a sin to enjoy the praise you get, Demetrian." You point out gently.

The tiny Ultramarine in your hand huffs a little before settling into your hand, mumbling in a language that you do not know, still blushing.

[finchly-tintinnabulation]

- Scout's Honor -

Original Ultramarine (Aristaeus) x GN!Reader

Next>>

Tags: Dubious consent, space marine not knowing his own strength (blood), rutting behaviors, gets a bit spicy but the clothes stay on

First time posting my writing here as a newer WH40k fan (and possibly my first time writing 2nd person), this one being heavily inspired by @cosmic-cryptid-from-beyond's The Bellowing, @jaghatai-khock's Rutting Season, @kit-williams's Space Marine Husbandry Bonds, and general rut/bond dynamics. This will probably become a series oops

- - -

The 10th company barracks had been unusually quiet for days with the absence of the more experienced scout squads, those who were no longer neophytes with the completion of their bio-augmentation but lacked the rank of battle-brother, still on the proving grounds of combat. With your assigned squadrons away, you had to admit it was a lot more boring to walk the halls performing your duties. 

You were not the most efficient or devout serf, and while that quality had protected you by keeping your head down upon the slaver ship, you had worried your rescuers would not take so kindly to those qualities. To your surprise, however, you found your place serving the Scions of Ultramar to be comfortable. Even if the recruits had forgotten whatever previous human life they had, they were rowdy and playful as any young man would be, and the centuries old officers were of a patient temperament. Listening to the chatter of the Astartes was the most interesting part of your day, their jests and discipline alike. 

There were only a handful of neophytes milling about and polishing their armor, so you decided to take advantage of most of the company’s absence to clean the barracks without getting underfoot. The thing that may have tipped you off to something out of the ordinary was the lack of other serfs as well, but at the time you paid it no mind, especially when there was nobody to fuss at you for not wanting to haul around a stepladder to reach the corners of Astartes-sized living quarters. 

Room to room you scrubbed away the soot left from long hours of burning candles and incense, climbing precariously up onto the edges of cots to wipe film from the walls and ceilings. Humming to yourself let you pass the time in peace, methodically going about your work and restocking incense where it was needed. 

That was until you were reaching up for a particularly stubborn stain and you were suddenly crushed to the wall you were supporting yourself against with the force of being run over by a tank. 

Your head smacked hard against the metal and your knees buckled, eyes watering as white hot pain shot through your nose, some huge growling mass huffing hot breaths into your ear. Panic quickly overtook you, uselessly squirming against the beast enveloping your form. Defying an angel would surely get you punished, but that didn’t cross your mind when acrid animal fear clouded your thoughts.

“Hey! Down!” You barked with all the air that hadn’t been pressed out of your lungs, tone scolding and authoritative with the memory of your family’s dogs from long ago. To your shock, it seemed to work. The weight retreated and you crumpled to your knees on the cot, heart jackrabbiting as you turned to see what manner of creature had jumped on you like prey. 

A scout marine perched on the edge of the bunk, still clutching your calves and looking like he’d been caught with a hand in the cookie jar, apparently freshly showered judging from his wet hair and fatigues. How someone so large could ambush you so silently was no longer a mystery. You recognized him as a member of Sergeant Telion’s squad though his name escaped you, a familiar face as one of the men whose belongings you tended to, a sniper with no small amount of talent praised for his composure and calmness. And you were in his room. 

“Oh sh— I’m so sorry, my sincerest apologies sir— my lord angel, I must excuse myself—“ Frantically you looked to the floor for the rest of your cleaning supplies to grab and make a break for it, but your plans were halted by a loud, forlorn whine. 

The scout’s brown eyes were huge and wet, taking on a glassy quality from shame and something you couldn’t quite put your finger on. Some unfocused desperation as he looked pleadingly up at you, his hands retreating to give your ankles a squeeze. 

“Uh— easy, there… I’m not mad.” More than a little bewildered, you ever so slowly turned to sit on the cot to face the man, feeling a twinge at the pathetic look on his face as if he hadn’t just pounced on you. Did he want to be comforted or something?

Just as slowly you reached out, and things were a bit more clear when he met your hand halfway by leaning in to nuzzle against it, chuffing happily. You couldn’t help but chuckle at the absurdity. Sure, there was some arguably pack-like behavior amongst the squadrons, but this marine was practically a puppy. 

“That’s it, you’re okay.” Petting his damp scruffy crew cut, you listened to what could be mistaken for the distant rumble of thunder grow into a purr that vibrated through your whole body. You thought that perhaps you had appeased the beast for a moment before he climbed up onto the cot and into your space, shoving his face into yours with superhuman speed. 

Lips and tongue intruded on your mouth and nose, making you sputter in shock as the scout lapped at your face, making you taste something metallic. You gasped and tried to wipe away the saliva, making the marine retreat long enough for you to see him lick blood off his teeth. Where did… oh, your nose had been bleeding from the impact. Fuck.

“Is this your way of saying sorry? Hey, gentle.” Gingerly scratching at his scalp, the licking eased up to something more like dog kisses on your cheek as the scout crowded his way practically into your lap. Fear almost entirely forgotten, there was something pleasant about the warm solid presence once again pinning you in place. “…Good boy.”

Physical affection was something you assumed to be a thing of the past. There was little time for it amongst the serfs when so much was taken up by work and prayer, you couldn’t help but bask in it even as the scout shifted to practically laying on top of you, wrapping his arms around your chest. Warmth and presence and deep breathing, comforts you had almost forgotten. 

The marine’s warm tongue traveled downwards, lingering on your jaw before his face was abruptly stuffed into the crook of your neck, drawing a breathless and undignified yelp from your throat. Lips and teeth sank into your trapezius, undoubtedly worrying dark marks into your skin between desperate huffs of hot breath. That also drew your attention to his meaty thighs straddling yours, and the jerky movement of his hips. 

How would this look? Remembering yourself and your station you wriggled experimentally, breath ragged and face heating from the movement and teasing mouth. It was no use; there was no escape from underneath a fully grown Astartes. If you called out for someone to get this brute off there was a good chance of you being implicated, possibly blamed as some sort of corrupting force to the future of the Ultramarines. It was probably best to ride out the scout’s affections. 

Honestly… in that moment you didn’t quite feel like complaining. Touch starvation could be a potent thing, and despite his size and weight the marine held you tenderly, his body enveloping yours in warmth and the smell of fresh linens and something… strange and syrupy. Your head spun, small clipped groans slipping from between your teeth as the man atop you bit and sucked the flesh between his, the ache it left feeling tingly and… pleasurable. There was a heat low in your gut, the friction of your trousers rubbing against his becoming dizzying. 

You hadn’t been touched like this in so long… sweet purring sent a rumble through your chest that made your limbs feel numb… you couldn’t properly clamp down on the noise you made as his hand pressed down on your stomach…

“Aristaeus, what do you have?” The scout froze, finally pulling away from your neck to cover you with his body, apparently trying to hide you from the booming voice about where you remembered the open doorway being. “Let me see.”

A drawn out whine reverberated through your chest but his mass retreated, allowing you to tip your head back and try to make out the fuzzy upside down figure behind you. 

“Se-Sergeant…?” You croaked, blinking dazedly as you recognized the elderly Astartes. He raised a hand to rub the bridge of his nose

“Brother Aristaeus, give them to me.” Another whine. Despite the terrifying sensation of being caught, you realized the tone Sergeant Telion used; handling a disobedient dog. “Now, please.”

The weight holding you in place lifted at the same moment you were grabbed by the back of your tunic and hauled into the air, carried away by a speed walking and very miffed Scout Sergeant. 

“I’m— I’m sorry my lord, I was cleaning the scouts’ quarters and—“

“Were you not told?” Sergeant Telion muttered, fixing you with his mechanical eye. 

“Told what? I mean, no sir— my lord, I wasn’t.” You floundered, limp as a scruffed kitten. 

Telion sighed wearily, pushing open the door to what you vaguely remembered to be the debriefing room. “To stay out of sight.” He set you on the table to better fix you with his stare, steady and unwavering as any master marksman would be. 

“…No, lord angel. I was unaware I wasn’t permitted to go about my duties as usual. Most of the serfs here are— what I mean to say is, I may not be inundated with everything, as I arrived a few months ago.” Undoubtedly there were already marks blooming on your neck that the Sergeant had seen, but you clasped a hand over your throat, self conscious and feeling just as trapped as if he had been holding you there. 

“Mm. I will have to discuss this with the Master of Reconnaissance. Unfortunate, we haven’t had such complications for a while.” Stroking his beard, Telion began to turn away. 

“Please my lord, I apologize for any complications I have caused, forgive my transgressions!” Complications. Ice ran down your spine as you imagined any number of punishments you could face, clasping your hands to try and disguise your trembling. Going back to the Drukhari was a preferable fate to becoming a servitor.

“It’s alright, this is the result of oversight, not you.” His bushy white brows furrowed. “Although I regret to inform you that your role as a serf will be changing. A first rut bond must not interfere with training.”

[imogenkol]

— WIP WEDNESDAY

tag list (ask to be added or removed!): @socially-awkward-skeleton @neonshrike @inafieldofdaisies @voidika @florbelles @adelaidedrubman @tommyarashikage @simonxriley @aceghosts @carlosoliveiraa @risingsh0t @unholymilf @thedeadthree @cassietrn @jackiesarch @loriane-elmuerto @shellibisshe @katsigian @captastra @simplegenius042 @g0dspeeed @strangefable @statichvm @jacobseed @cptcassian @euryalex @auricfog @confidentandgood @e-the-village-cryptid @belladelamorte @minaharkers @elligatorrex

I physically cannot stop myself from writing about them even though I planned to take a break until s2 so here’s a lil bit of angst (warning for panic attack/ptsd)

For as cold as her hands always were, Bix found it refreshing when Imogen reached up and cupped her face. It felt like a splash of cool water that awakened her senses, which would have been jarring if not for the gentle fade into a comforting warmth that immediately followed and settled in her chest.

Imogen tenderly ran a thumb along the line of her jaw, curving around the shape of her chin and coming to rest on the other side so that she delicately held the mechanic’s jaw in one hand while the other pulled her in closer by her waist. Bix felt a flutter and leaned into the touch, shutting her eyes.

That was a mistake.

As soon as she did, she felt Imogen tighten her grip ever so slightly. Not enough pressure to be assertive—certainly not enough to hurt at all, but without any warning Bix saw a flash of Dedra Meero’s face. For the first time in months, she felt the ISB supervisor’s unyielding grip on her jaw, forcing her head up when Bix lacked the strength to meet her gaze as she interrogated her.

In an instant, the temperature in Bix’s body dropped. Her hands went numb. Her ears rang. The world lurched. Overwhelming panic caused her to flinch away from her lover and she instinctively shoved Imogen back because she could not bear any contact for a second longer.

“No!” Bix said in a voice so shrill that it hardly sounded like her own.

Imogen took a step towards her as she retreated, but Bix held a hand up and stammered before the bounty hunter got a word out.

“Don’t—don’t touch me, I—“ Bix struggled to form her thoughts as her heart thundered against her ribcage like it was trying to break free. Even through the abrupt hysteria, she saw the deeply concerned look on Imogen’s face and felt a flush of remorse on top of it all. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. It’s not you, I just…”

“You should take a seat,” Imogen calmly suggested. “Breathe.”

Bix shook her hands in an effort to regain some feeling in them and took measured breaths that trembled in and out of her lungs. She did not want to sit. Or perhaps she did, but her body wouldn’t let her. Honestly, she didn’t know what she wanted or what she needed other than this feeling to stop.

Bix shut her eyes again and saw Doctor Gorst’s sickening smile.

The unrelenting wave crashed into her once more, threatening to knock Bix off her feet no matter what she thought she did or didn’t want. The mechanic groaned and began to pace in a small circle, mumbling a quiet mantra to herself as she fought against the tears constricting her throat and welling in her eyes. “I’m okay. I’m okay, I’m okay…”

Imogen stood still and patiently waited in silence for the moment to pass. Bix was grateful. As much as she wanted to be enveloped by her embrace or hear her voice, everything felt too paralyzing.

When the edges of her vision went black, Bix somehow found her way to the edge of a chair and fell into it. The metal legs scraped and squeaked against the floor, but she barely registered any other sound besides her own heartbeat. Bix focused on it, on the acute sensation of blood racing through her veins. She marked the path from her heart to the tips of her fingers until there was a tingle in her now clammy palms.

Gradually, her breaths grew steady and she felt cool. Not the uncomfortable coldness that felt like she plunged into a frozen lake, but the same kind of relaxed chill that came from her lover’s touch and grounded her. After another minute of breathing — or two or three, she couldn’t quite tell how much time passed — Bix felt her emotions level out into a much more stable state, allowing her muscles to finally release their relentless tension.

“Okay.” Bix nodded and released a sigh until every last bit of air had been pushed out of her lungs. Then she sat back in the chair and inhaled deeply, nodding again. “Okay.”

“Would you like me to leave?” Imogen asked.

Her lover’s voice snapped Bix back into focus. She glanced over and noted that Imogen remained a dutiful statue, not approaching nor making any sudden movements. The woman still wore a worried frown, gray eyes bright with anticipation as she waited for an order.

“No.”

“Do you need me to leave?”

The distinction was an important one, Bix realized, so she took a moment to think about it. Ultimately, as the storm passed, Bix felt empty – deprived, and found herself craving contact as if she were dying of thirst and being presented with a crystal clear river that flowed only for her.

Bix extended her hand and Imogen accepted the wordless invitation back into her space. However, even standing before her, the bounty hunter made no effort to reinitiate touch. Bix smiled warmly as she realized Imogen was following her lead.

With a hand that still had a slight tremble, Bix reached out and wrapped her fingers around Imogen’s wrist. Their eyes remained locked as Bix placed her lover’s palm on her flushed cheek and tilted her head into it until Imogen caressed her. To test herself, the mechanic closed her eyes. Her jaw tightened almost immediately as she felt the threat of panic trickle back in, but she focused on the soft brush of a familiar thumb against her skin. Reminded herself who it belonged to.

“You are safe,” Imogen murmured in a soothing tone as she continued to stroke her cheek.

Bix wanted to believe her more than anything. Maybe one day she would.

[hobgobknowsbest]

Goblin tips vol. 5: eating habits

goblins tend to lean heavily into the omnivore category. more specifically, they're about as opportunistic in their diets as a raccoon, and absolutely hate wasting food

typical things you'll hear from a goblin in or around a kitchen/dining area:

are you going to finish that?

hey wait! don't throw that away!

it's fine if you just scrape the top off

I don't tend to include personal anecdotes in my tips, but one of my best friends, who is the most goblin goblin I've ever had the pleasure of knowing in real life, regularly eats out of the trash. and I don't mean careful dumpster diving behind Whole Foods, I mean if she's hungry and there's a half eaten burrito in the trash can outside a restaurant, then her hunger is now sated

I've eaten whole chicken bones, loved raw meat as a child, and the "five second rule" means nothing because time isn't real. same with expiration dates; they're just suggestions really

you can food anything if you chew hard enough

[bluemirrorangel]

Dps headcanons the poets and their type of academia aesthetic 

This is wayyyy longer than I intended it to be lol anyway I hope you enjoy these, leave a ship or fandom suggestions and I’ll do headcanons for them if you want :) 

Todd:darkest Academia

Loves gothic fiction and horror stories because he likes being nervous knowing that he's supposed to be.

Likes reading outside at night because it’s quiet 

Surprisingly nosey, not in a bad way he’s just really curious about stuff.

Likes dark/muted colours.

His favourite book is a picture of Dorian grey.

Weirdly into cryptids and other mysteries.

Was TERRIFIED of the Bermuda triangle as a kid.

Loves writing poetry but enjoys writing in general.

Semi popular writer on AO3 for classical literature, started because Keating told him to publicise  some of creative writing.

Runs his good reads account like the navy.

Charlie:chaotic academia

Regularly gets uniform carded for everything; shirt unbuttoned and untucked, tie loosened, he never has his blazer on and his jumper is perpetually tied around his waist. 

Has a mason jar type cup on his nightstand that is always full of a mixture of different energy drinks and fizzy drinks/soda’s, Cameron says it looks like paint water.

Banned from reading out loud in English class pre-Keating because he got a little too into the role of Jack in Lord of the Flies .

Point blank refuses to do P.E and is always ‘losing’ his kit.

Shockingly serious about music class, deeply respects the teacher and never misses a lesson.

Post stick notes EVERYWHERE

Writes his notes in highlighter and felt tips

Went through a phase of bringing a flask to school instead of a water bottle because he thought it looked cool.

Spark notes BIGGEST FAN.

A saxophone prodigy despite being unable to read sheet music.

Neil:light academia

Loves Shakespeare and the theatre in general

Good grades in every class but really shines when it comes to the arts

Eats his lunch in the English classroom with the other poets

Forges his fathers signature for school trips so much half his teachers have no idea what his dads handwriting actually looks like.

Hates biology because he’s scared of blood

Always says that Todd is his favourite author/poet.

Really good memory, able to learn lines at shocking speeds. 

Finds it difficult to multitask; has to have instrumental music playing otherwise he gets distracted.

Prefers plays over books.

Collects playbills.

Meeks:classic academia 

Loves typewriters, inherited one from his grandparents and uses it alllll the time.

has a polaroid camera and uses it to take either the best candid's or the  most diabolical mugs there's no in-between.

Owns a shocking amount of sweater vests.

Has a record collection.

Loves those retro 50’s themed diners/drive-ins, drags Pitts and the poets to those all the time.

Really into history

Owns an analogue radio.

Taught himself Latin one summer to impress Pitts, and is now fluent.

His entire wardrobe is vintage themed.

Favourite book is the Outsiders by S.E Hinton.

Knox:romantic academia

Writes love letters and poetry whenever he has a crush on someone, used to keep them under his bed but swiftly changed that hiding place after watching ‘to all the boys I've loved before.’ with his sister, they now live in a shoebox on his trophy/bookshelf.

Loves the romantics big fan of love poetry as a whole.

Has definitely tried to serenade someone before.

 Self taught guitarist.

Has only ever received on card on Valentines Day, it was from Charlie in year nine it’s one of Knox’s most prized possessions.

Loves Romeo and Juliet.

Thinks ‘say anything’ is the height of romance 

Subconsciously wants to be romanced for once instead of the other way round. 

 Has Pinterest boards dedicated to romantic quotes 

His favourite movie is the princess bride.

pitts:’nerdy’ Academia 

really into the roman empire 

Loves renaissance fairs and goes every year.

REALLY into dungeons and dragons.

Loves going to random museum exhibits.

Spent half his childhood hyper fixated on the Titanic, was super excited to watch the movie and completely heartbroken when he realised it was a fictional story and not a documentary.

Brilliant at chess.

Knows random historical facts.

Horrible at remembering faces but never forgets a name.

Loves mythology of all kinds.

Really good at architecture; his middle school used to have a architecture competition where  you had 2 minutes to make a house out of marshmallows and dry spaghetti the most stable one won, Pitts won every year.

Cameron:dark academia 

Keeps his notes/homework in colour coded folders and files

A proper perfectionist and  chronic overachiever.

Writes in pencil or fountain Pen.

the gifted kid who REFUSED to burn out.

Only gets attention at home when he’s doing well at school, so he throws himself into his studies.

Drinks more coffee than water

Can play the piano, was entered in a school concert and his whole family came. He was terrified of embarrassing or disappointing them so he overdid it and played so hard his fingers bled.

Has a copy of every graded test practice or otherwise in his room so he can go over them before his exams.

Hates English with a passion because it’s the one lesson where there are no rules.

Once spent an entire night going over his English notes before a test and was so overtired he fell asleep during the exam and failed it. None of the poets bring it up not even Charlie because that day was the first time he’d seen Cameron cry.

[fushigurokogane]

“𝑬𝒙𝒕𝒓𝒂 𝑺𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕 (𝑱𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝑳𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒀𝒐𝒖)”

𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘹 𝘎𝘰𝘫𝘰 𝘚𝘢𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘶 | 𝘊𝘰𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘦 𝘚𝘩𝘰𝘱 𝘈𝘜 | ��𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧, 𝘏𝘶𝘮𝘰𝘳, 𝘚𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘉𝘶𝘳𝘯-𝘪𝘴𝘩

It starts with a man in sunglasses.

He's wearing a navy blue hoodie, and a scarf wrapped halfway up his face waltzing into your quiet little café at 7:42 a.m. on a Tuesday. The time is important because no one comes in before 8, and also because 7:42 is way too early for you to be dealing with this brand of chaotic energy.

“Good morning, sunshine,” he says, already too loud, peering at the pastry case like it personally offended him.

You’re bleary-eyed, halfway through your first espresso shot of the day. “We don’t open until 8.”

He waves a hand dismissively. “Yeah, yeah. But the door was unlocked, so really, isn’t that just destiny?”

You squint at him. “It was unlocked because the baker just brought in fresh croissants.”

“Perfect,” he says, grinning. “I’ll take six. And whatever the sweetest drink you make is.”

You blink. “Like… a caramel macchiato?”

“Add chocolate. And whipped cream. Extra whipped cream.”

He’s either insane or sleep-deprived or both, but he’s smiling like he’s on vacation and you’re just here for the ride. So you make the drink, add the croissants, and slide them across the counter with a grumble. He taps his card on the reader and drops a folded bill in the tip jar that says: “WE’RE POOR. HELP.”

“See you tomorrow,” he says, winking.

-

And then he does come back. Every single day.

At first, it’s the same order: six croissants, one sugary heart attack in a cup.

Then it gets more elaborate.

He starts naming his drinks. “The Gojo Special.” “The Sugary God.” “Drink of the Strongest.”

You threaten to write embarrassing nicknames on his cup if he doesn’t stop, so naturally, he doubles down.

“Satoru ❤️” becomes “Sassy Sato” becomes “Your Future Boyfriend.”

Every. Single. Morning.

-

You start to expect him. Look forward to the chaos. Your coworkers start calling him “Coffee Shop Gojo” like he’s some weird cryptid who only appears before sunrise with designer shades and a god complex.

One time, you catch him doodling something on a napkin while waiting for his drink. It’s a very crude drawing of you with devil horns and the words “THE COFFEE WITCH” in bold. You retaliate by drawing him as a stick figure with hearts for eyes.

He looks at it for a long moment before tucking it into his hoodie pocket. “You think about me that much, huh?”

You roll your eyes so hard it almost hurts. “Only when I’m thinking of ways to poison your coffee.”

-

It’s week five when he shows up and doesn’t order a drink.

You raise an eyebrow. “No sugar bomb today?”

“Didn’t sleep last night,” he says, and for once, he sounds tired. Not fake tired, not “I just saved the world” tired, real tired. “Didn’t want to pass out mid-sip and embarrass myself in front of my favorite barista.”

You scoff, but your chest does that annoying little flutter thing. “How tragic. What’ll you do instead?”

He shrugs. “I thought maybe I’d just… hang out for a bit. Talk to you.”

The café is quiet. No one else is in yet. He leans against the counter, and for the first time, his grin falters just a little — like he’s unsure.

You hand him a hot chocolate without a word. No charge. Extra whipped cream.

His fingers brush yours when he takes it, and he goes still. Then softer than you expect, he murmurs, “Thanks.”

You nod. “Don’t get used to it.”

-

Eventually, he tells you he's a teacher. “At a weird private school,” he says, grinning.

You ask what he teaches. He says “martial arts and existential dread,” and then refuses to elaborate.

There’s something underneath his jokes. A weight he hides behind sunglasses and sugar. You learn to read the small things, the slump of his shoulders, the silence between laughs.

You start sneaking little notes onto his cups.

“Hang in there.” “You survived Monday, you can survive today.” “Your coffee misses you when you’re gone.”

He keeps every single one.

-

It happens on a rainy day.

You’re swamped. The espresso machine is throwing a tantrum, and your playlist glitched, looping some sad acoustic cover of “Take On Me.” You’re half a second from throwing yourself into a vat of steamed milk when you hear his voice.

“Hey, witch.”

You turn, annoyed and exhausted. “Not now, Satoru—”

But he’s already walking behind the counter. Not touching anything, just standing there, staring at you like you’re the only person in the world.

He hands you a napkin. You think it’s another doodle.

It’s not.

It’s a note.

“If you let me take you out, I promise I’ll still come in every morning and flirt with you like a disaster. But I’ll also show you the real me. The part that’s scared sometimes. The part that doesn’t need sugar to feel alive when you smile at me.”

You stare at it. Then at him. His glasses are pushed up onto his head for once, and his eyes are bright and nervous and entirely sincere.

“...What if I say no?” you whisper.

He grins. “Then I’ll just keep trying until you say yes.”

You fold the napkin and tuck it into your apron pocket.

“Okay,” you say. “But only if you admit that my coffee is better than Starbucks.”

He mock-gasps. “That’s a low blow, Coffee Witch.”

You smile. “Better get used to it, Future Boyfriend.”

YAYAYAYAYA I LOVE THIS FIC IDEA!! I really wanna do more of this soooo you'll probably see more Coffee AUs from me 😁😁 Love, nika <3

[a-forbidden-detective]

Kissaki and katana

Kissaki, Alice’s slasher/escort/samurai, has appeared in five arcs, as far as I can remember.

Chapter 13, Takumi Jumonji recalling the personages of the M clan.

At the Cruise ship Serial murders arc when Schachi wanted to escape with Fin

At the end of the Cryptid serial murders arc where he freed Billy Goji, aka Alice M, from the police.

On Chapter 147, the Tokyo Chimera serial murders arc, where Winter saw their younger sister talking to him

And the recent chapter, No. 153, where his name, or code name, is finally revealed.

Kissaki is literally one significant part of the katana.

The Kissaki is the tip of the Japanese blade. This is also where you will find the Boshi which is the hardened edge section of the tip and the Yokote which is the dividing line where the surfaces change between the blade and the tip.

This is a good link especially if you are looking for the right terms when writing a story about samurai and their swords.

I wonder if Kissaki, the bodyguard designated to the current head of the M Family, is acquired through inheritance or allegiance, which the last sounding more prominent.

Kissaki sounds like a pseudonym. His masked face is the subject of many theories in the fandom. One of them being Eliot Moriarty, which is bordering on absurdity. Might be one of those twists we are longing to see. This is AA’s work we are talking about. So everything is possible. Anyway, Kissaki’s actions might clash with Eliot’s personal ethos. His height could be the key. Anyway, i just want to see more Eliot that’s all.

[glucosegaurdian]

one idea for an mha fic that I may never actually write is one of those ‘immortal Izuku’ fics, except.. not.

hear me out

The bullied quirkless kid jumps like half of those fics, right? Gets back up, and has no fucking clue what the hell, so like the quirk analyst that he is, starts screwing with the quirk. Only to figure out that it’s not immortality or even a healing quirk.

It’s a quirk that negates fall damage.

That’s it. Just fall damage.

So like. Imagine this 14 year old starts jumping off of roofs and tackling criminals like a psychotic vigilante to literally get the drop on them. Because in his teenage wisdom, he’s realized that they can’t use their quirks to hurt him if he knocks them out in one swoop.

Becomes a stealth based cryptid of Mustafu like fucking Batman because you see a hooded figure on the sky line and next thing you know, you wake up ducktaped to a lamppost with the police pulling up because of an anonymous tip.

because as much as I love a good ‘Izuku is fucking insane and would absolutely go vigilante with a power to not hurt himself’ fic, they always give him such an overpowered quirk when one if the main points of the story is that Ofa and Afo are the most powerful. And I like the idea that he always had the quirk but just never knew because who the hell tests their fall damage from 10 stories high.

Imagine with me, if you will, the angst potential of a vigilante who’s only boon is the roofs that he once used to try and kill himself. The one thing that can never actually hurt him is the one that he was pushed to and gave in to ending it. The terror of the first time never actually fading even when he knows logically it can’t hurt, even after weeks on end of patrolling, terror that never actually stops shooting through his body.

adrenaline and terror and acceptance and the nagging question of if this will be the time the quirk stops working, if this is it, if he can take out one more person with him on the way out.

imagine the midair panic attack that always comes, the acceptance as the ground approaches, and the mix of relief and awe as he gets back up only to do it again.

I like to think that after some point, Izu starts to get numb to fear like a real pro whos been in the game for decades because of the mortal terror he enforces every patrol, every jump, to the point where no villain actually scares him because he could die at any point by his own doing, so them trying or even almost succeeding is numbed to mild acceptance or the resignation of ‘it is what it is’