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[snarkyfinch]

Subject Study [1/4]

SUBJECT MATERIAL IS CLASSIFIED. UNAUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ACCESSING THIS MATERIAL WILL BE VAPORIZED. CERTAIN PRECAUTIONS HAVE BEEN PUT IN PLACE TO PREVENT UNAUTHORIZED ACCESS.

TESTING FOR AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL....... TESTING....

WELCOME BACK. ACCESS DOCUMENT?

[YES]

ACCESS GRANTED

Subject 27-D8, The Shadow

All studies on this subject are to be approved by Doctor Kedves. This subject is classified as Contained and Agreeable, meaning janitorial staff and other low ranking staff members are allowed access if necessary.

Subject Description

       Subject 27-D8 appears as a young man in his twenties. He has impressive bags under his eyes, very pale skin. He is around 5’4 in height, though could be taller as he has a notable slouch. Subject has dark hair that he likes to keep dyed purple and becomes highly distraught when separated from his purple and black hoodie. Said hoodie is never to be taken from the subject.

       Subject 27-D8’s capabilities surround shadows. From what has been observed he holds the ability to manipulate shadows. While this is generally in harmless ways, changing shapes and size of shadows, etc., it has at least on one occasion been noted that the shadows almost seemed to solidify. This would then suggest the shadows could at some point be weaponized. It is also theorized Subject 27-D8 may be able to travel via shadows, but this has yet to be confirmed.

Subject Background (Light)

       Subject 27-D8 was brought in alongside his much more dangerous counterpart, subject 48-A16. They both seem to have abilities surrounding shadows, and it is theorized that the two may have some kind of connection. Neither have given any hints to a shared past, thus skewing our theories about the same point of receiving their abilities. It is still unknown as to whether they were born this way or if some kind of event caused a change.

       Subject 27-D8 was extremely dependent on 48-A16 and as a result was kept in close contact with his counterpart. The subjects were both originally under the care of Doctor Sauer, but have been separated since an uncharacteristic outburst from 27-D8 during one of their “hangouts.” We still have not discovered what caused the two to fall out so violently, but the next thing we knew 27-D8 was demanding never to see 48-A16 ever again. We have yet to decide if he regrets the decision he made in a moment of anger or not. 48-A16 seems highly resentful.

       Subject 27-D8 has become highly docile during his time at the facility and Doctor Kedves has made significant progress with the subject. This has made his classification go from 11 to 8 as it seems much more certain he will not attempt an escape or attempt to harm others at the moment. He is still a risk, thus remaining above the lower ranges.

Doctor’s Observations

Subject 27-D8 shows signs of high anxiety and possible depression. Medication may become necessary, psychiatric opinion necessary.

Subject 27-D8 prefers sushi over tacos.

Subject 27-D8 seems to have semi-heightened strength in moments of panic, as during a recent panic attack during a containment error he managed to shove his bed clear across his room to block his door.

Subject 27-D8’s trust in me has grown and as a result I have learned his name, which is [REDACTED].

Subject 27-D8 enjoys “emo” music.

Subject 27-D8 still exhibits discomfort and anger when Subject 48-A16 is mentioned. Further study needed to see if this could be a potential to trigger his abilities into action.

Subject 27-D8 refuses to harm others. Status needs updating to Contained and Agreeable. Could still be potentially dangerous, but seems scared of the idea of hurting someone. Unlikely to be a risk unless pushed/threatened.

Subject 27-D8 likes my [REDACTED]! I used my new recipe for them. Highly favorable reaction, should [REDACTED] for him later. Future [REDACTED], remember this note!

[DOCUMENT LAST EDITED BY CLASS 3 AGENT BRODY, xxxx 28th xxxx]

[snarkyfinch]

yo i am SO glad you’re back, ive missed getting notifs that you made a new post!

You’re so sweet! I’m glad to be back! <3

[snarkyfinch]

I missed seeing you on my dash! Welcome back!

Aww ;;; that’s so sweet. Thank you! I’m glad to be back <3

[snarkyfinch]

[snarkyfinch]

'I didn't believe you cared' with Dr. Schneep and JBM?

IDK if this is pining, but it sure is something.

Tags: @authorsathenaeum @tiny-yan-an @darkstache-iplier @redraspberrycats @cookieface678 @bing-iplier @storm337 @sketchy-scribs-n-doods @pixelenchanter @itsjustkyss @darkiplurrr @demon-dark-666 @moonysmayhem @xpouii @projectwkm @sororia04s @purple-anxiety-blog

Prompt: “I didn’t believe you cared.”

    He didn’t remember falling asleep; merely remembered drifting in and out of bleary, half-formed consciousness, and wasn’t sure that he remembered a strong, firm chest and a uniform that smelled of sweat and electricity. 

    Was he dreaming?

    He had to be; Jackie had been gone for years.

“You can’t survive on coffee forever, Hen. Your body’s gonna give out eventually.” Beneath his ear was a heartbeat, beating faster than any normal human’s could. Above him was the voice. Familiar. Comforting. Strong.

How Henrik missed that voice. He felt it in his bones, deeper than any ache of exhaustion or fear; the dull throb of longing. 

“Jackie,” he mumbled, tongue feeling thick and slow. He fought his own fatigue, to prove Jackie’s existence with his own, bloodshot eyes, but they wouldn’t open; his eyelids felt sewn shut.

“I’m here, Hen.” Jackie’s voice sounded so real. How could he be dreaming?

“I didn’t . . .” Henrik mumbled, half-asleep, half-disbelief, voice cracking. “I didn’t believe you cared.”

Jackie laughed; a beautiful sound that Henrik felt rumbling through his chest. That he heard beneath his ear. “Of course I care, Henrik,” he murmured, almost too soft to be heard. “It’s because I care that I can’t be around.”

What? Henrik opened his mouth, but before he could speak-- or utter a low groan-- Jackie said, “go to sleep. You’ll feel better tomorrow.”

But will you be there? Henrik wanted to ask-- even though he already knew the answer-- but his consciousness was slipping, pulled into the black, warm abyss by strong arms and a slow, rocking movement.

He would wake, hours later, alone; head blurry, he couldn’t be entirely sure how he got from the clinic to his bed, save for a faint memory of a warm chest and a uniform that smelled of sweat and electricity.

[snarkyfinch]

Hello

Howdy. Been a minute, huh? Sorry for that, hah.

Anyway! I’m not dead! Shocker, right? I’m back and coming in with a big project. Not sure when I’ll start posting it, but... soon.

If anyone wants to do smth like send in asks trying to guess that could be fun.

I’ll give ya a hint. It’s an AU for the sides and they are definitively not sides. Oh and the egos might cameo. Now... what would humans do with a bunch of abnormal people, or people with odd abilities and powers?

[snarkyfinch]

It fills your lungs

I’m honestly not even sure what this is. Dark has a panic attack and accidentally gets sent back to the past?

There is something deep within him, something he ignores and hides away. Something long forgotten, abandoned, left behind in a broken little cabin in snow-filled woods. The twisted remains of a past never forgotten, the barely-there hope for the chance of a return to normalcy.

There is a need to protect within him.

Protect from the man, the monster, that had once been his-- no, their-- friend. The thing that took so much and yet still yearned for more, more blood, more hurt, more story. The beast that wrote reality into something horrible, something tragic and twisted.

The man who ruined his friends, all because things hadn’t quite gone the way he wanted them to.

Dark breathes shallowly as his back aches sharply. It’s a stabbing pain, one that comes in waves of worse and bearable. He grits his teeth, makes his way to the safety of his office. He does not hide, he is not a coward, but there is a bubbling feeling growing inside of him that he doesn’t understand. His aura flares, blue overtakes red and then it fades back to it’s usual 3d outline appearance.

Is it anxiety?

He hasn’t felt like this, felt this human, in so long. The feeling claws at him, burns lungs and strangles his heart. The world spins, an all too familiar laugh sounds out like a tolling bell in the back of his head.

In a way, he feels like he’s drowning.

The cabin fills with ice-cold water. Celine floats out of sight. Damien tries to reach for her, the ice fills his lungs as he tries to scream, to breathe. Damien--

“Darling?” There he is, as always. Never uses a door because things like that aren’t relevant, not to him. Never to him. He’s wrong, just like the house was, that cursed manor that stole everything from-- from-- “Darling. Where are you, right now?” “Where am I?” It comes out as a cruel, incredulous laugh as he forces his head to lift from its odd angle. He glares, hysterical, at a pink mustache and uncomprehending eyes.

Damn him. Damn them. Damn them all. But who were they?

“I know where I am, you cotton candied--” “We both know that’s not what I meant, so don’t be rude about it, old friend.”

The air leaves his lungs, he feels very suddenly as though someone has struck him. Old friend? Old friend? No, no this was wrong. Where was he? “I’m here in my office, now see yourself-” “I’m not leaving you like this. Why don’t you just take a deep breath? I’ve had an attack like this before, nasty things. I’m going to come closer, Dames.”

Dames?

He hits the floor and suddenly things change. The office is filled with a soft orange-yellow glow, not the harsh white of the sun pouring in from the windows. There is no pink. Red greets his eyes instead, red against yellow, and a wide pair of brown eyes stares at him from behind ridiculous glasses that William has never--

William? “Will?” “Are you with me, Dames?” “I- but- we- I wasn’t- I shouldn’t be-” He can’t breathe, can’t make sense of anything. The fading echos of someone calling out to Dark, not Damien, run through his head in a vicious loop until he’s not sure what’s real anymore.

Mark will betray you.

Celine’s voice, soft and sad and so, so far away.

Damien grips onto William and refuses to let go.

[snarkyfinch]

What if Captain America is the soul given for the soul stone, and Steve Rogers (weak, asthmatic Steve) is the one to return to face Thanos alongside the Avengers? Oh, and what if Tony didn’t die?

[snarkyfinch]

Change

The Doctor and the Ponds find their way back to one another, and the Doctor doesn’t plan to leave again. It just takes a few months to convince them of that. And another year or so to convince them both he loves them, but really, what’s a few years compared to a thousand?

(aka 2,000+ words of snarky giving amy rory and the doctor a happy romantic ending)

- -

“I suppose, in the end, they break my heart.”

And hadn't that been the truth for so very long? Hadn’t that been the one thing he carried with him, every time someone new stepped foot in the TARDIS? Yes, for quite a while his companions had all broken his hearts. They smiled and laughed and cried and lived, and then at some point they didn’t. The smiles were gone, as were the laughs, and the tears. So was the life. 

And it was so terribly lonely.

Sometimes he made himself live with that loneliness. Sometimes he let the years pass by with nothing but the wheezing of his TARDIS, no humans or otherwise present to make his chest ache. No one there to remind him he didn’t need to be alone. 

“Doctor?” The voice, so soft and hesitant, makes him smile. Despite the dark place his thoughts have drifted to, he smiles. “Hello, Rory.” “But how-?” Rory looks like a surprised fish, and if he were any less sorrowful and any more thrilled he might have laughed. As it were, he can only continue to smile at Rory. Judging from the concern that blooms like honeysuckles in Rory’s eyes, the smile mustn’t look very happy. Oops. 

“I’m a time lord. I do what I want.” “But this- you can’t be- not that I’m not happy to see you, of course I am it’s just-“ “Rory.” The Doctor keeps his tone gentle, always gentle around Rory. Because Rory has seen too much, because Rory the Roman deserves a little gentleness after everything he’s been dragged through on the Doctor’s account. “May I come in?”

Rory gapes at him for a moment more before nodding his head and letting out a series of stutters that collects in the Doctor’s mind to form, “Yes, yes of course, please do.” Then, Rory calls for Amy. There’s a long pause before her voice, irritated but not overly hostile, calls back. “What is it?”

“Get down here! Now! Preferably!” The Doctor wants to laugh, to cry, to something, at the familiarity of it all. Of the warmth creeping through him, at the fact he can’t seem to stop smiling. His cheeks are getting sore. 

Rory hasn’t stopped staring. 

The two men sit in silence as Amy makes her way to them, and they continue their silence as she enters the room with a gasp. “Doctor?” “Pond,” the word is said with all of the warmth, all of the love, he has left within him. Embers of a fire that has been dampened time and time again, the broken pieces of his heart crying out. “I’ve missed you.”

Amy sobs, does what he can’t, and then she’s in his arms. She’s in his arms and Rory seems unsure, standing to the side with eyes that shine suspiciously bright. He’s going to cry, too, then. The Doctor reaches out, tugs him in because his hearts ache and his eyes are wet. Because he’s home. It took him so long to realize what his home was, and he felt like the biggest idiot to ever exist when it hit him. 

Gallifrey was forever his home land, his origin, but it wasn’t his true home anymore. No, his true home was in the arms of those that loved him. 

“How are you here?” Amy asks, her face buried against his chest. “How is this possible?” “I’ve never been good at following the rules, have I? Especially not when it comes to you two.” Rory looks surprised to be included, and the Doctor squeezes him closer just to spite that surprise. Rory was a part of this, whatever this was. Whatever this was going to be. Rory was a part of it, too, and the Doctor didn’t intend to let him forget that. 

Judging from the death grip Amy had on Rory’s hand, she didn’t either. 

“What does this mean?” Amy meets his gaze now, eyes red and tear filled. Her nose is running and her skin is blotchy, and really it’s not the most attractive she’s ever been, but she is beautiful. “It means, Pond, that it’s time for some coffee and snacks.”

She laughs, and so does Rory, and the Doctor doesn’t think he’s ever heard a sound more beautiful. 

-

“Doctor?” Rory’s voice pipes up from behind him, and he glances away from his book to the man leaned in the doorway. “Yes, Rory?” “When… when are you leaving?” Rory sounds as awkward as ever, unsure of what path he’s meant to be taking when it comes to conversation. “What do you mean?” “I just. It’s not that I want you to go. Of course I don’t, it’s lovely having you here and all. It’s just. Well. You’re… you. You get bored. And it’s already been, what? A week? So, I was just wondering when you planned to leave, and when you do go if you’d mind-“

“Rory,” his voice doesn’t waver, which is a pleasant surprise. “Rory I’m not leaving. If that’s alright.” Rory blinks, mouth open, uncomprehending. The Doctor lets out a soft breath at the familiar expression, thinks back to the first time he saw that mute shock. He had missed all of this, though he could do without the awkward mornings. Those never had gotten easier to navigate. 

“Of course it’s alright, you dolt.” And there’s Amy, snow still melting in her hair, eyes as sharp as daggers. “We’ve kept an empty room for you for… how long?” “Years,” Rory whispers, sounding absolutely mystified. “Years.” Amy agrees, eyes focused solely on the Doctor. “So don’t even think of leaving, understand?”

“I won’t even consider it.” He’s not sure she understands how much he means those words. She’ll understand eventually, though. He knows she will. She’s always been smart. 

-

Six months. Six months of learning how to function as a human being on earth. He gets a job, thinks of Craig as he suggests the best toys for parents to place under the Christmas tree. Wonders how his friend is, wonders about a lot of things, and then he’s spiraling. He’s learned how to deal with spiraling, he’s learned a lot of things. 

Clara would be proud. He’s adjusting. He’s learning. He’s coping. 

“Amy? Have you seen my glasses?” “The ones you don’t need?” She sounds exasperated, but amused. He gives her his best sheepish but cheeky grin, unable to stop the nervous fluttering of his hands. His hands never sit still when he wants them to, but he’s found he doesn’t mind it. Lovely way to work off excess energy. 

“Yes, those.” “They’re in the bathroom on the medicine cabinet. For some reason. I saw them up there when I was dropping off your laundry.” “Ah, lovely. Thank you!” He makes sure to make his voice just a bit sing-songy because it always makes her smile when he does. Something about his dorky charms. 

“Oh, Doctor? Rory and I won’t be home for dinner tonight. Work.” The Doctor almost winces at that, but instead he just gives a wobbly smile. Amy looks sympathetic, and he really rather hates that. “You two are so busy. I feel like I should get another job.”

Amy laughs despite herself at that, shaking her head vehemently. “No, no you don’t need another job. You’d go insane.” “Still! You two are so busy all the time. Absolutely no time for me!” He absolutely does not whine his words out as he flops onto the couch, staring up at her flushed cheeks and wide smile. Beautiful. 

“You’re like a cat, sometimes.” She muses this as she runs a hand through his hair, watching it flop down over the edge of the sofa. The Doctor grins at her, unable to find the right response to that. She continues to fiddle with his hair until her hand comes to rest on his chest and her eyes return to her book. 

The Doctor stays there for as long as his back and legs will allow, basking in the comfort that is his Pond. 

-

“Rory! There you- oh.” “Lost a patient.” 

The words come out in a tired croak, and as the Doctor takes in the sight of tired eyes and slouched posture, his hearts crack just a bit. He moves forward before he can think why, arms reaching out as Rory leans willingly into his embrace. The Doctor has never been the best at these things, but he wraps his arms around Rory as tightly as he can and makes sure to tuck Rory’s face against his shoulder. That’s a comforting position, right?

Of course. The movies do it. He hasn’t had to do this in such a long time. 

“It’s alright now, Rory. You did all you could. It’s alright.” “You're terrible at this.” “Hush. I know.”

Rory’s laugh is feeble, but it’s a laugh. The Doctor laughs with him, just a little, because he can’t help it. Rory goes from holding him to gripping onto his shirt like a lifeline, shaking for a moment as he bites back a sob. The doctor hears the way his breathing hitches, hears him swallow the sound like a pill. 

“I’m sorry, Rory. You can’t save everyone.” “I know-“ “But you can stay strong for the ones you do save. It’s not going to get easier, but you will at least know how to cope with it.”

Rory looks at him and something clicks. The Doctor sees the light of understanding, the flickering ghosts that haunt this beautiful man. “You made dinner.” The sudden observation is startling, but the Doctor nods his head and motions to the table. “I’m still a bit rusty with it, but-“

“Doctor, it’s going to be amazing.” Rory’s eyes are still dripping tears, but he seems determined to ignore it so the Doctor decides to ignore it as well. For now. Until Amy gets home.

Until Amy gets home, the Doctor will hold Rory’s hand and pretend death is just something in children’s dark fairytales. 

-

“Doctor.”

He has lived with the Ponds for two years, now. Two wonderful, confusing, happy, terrifying years. Two years of an itch he can’t scratch no matter how much he runs, no matter how many bird houses he puts together, no matter how many children he helps find the perfect toy. 

The tone Amy uses sends a spike of fear through him, ice crawling up his spine. 

“Pond?” And there’s Rory at her side, both looking so serious. So severe. It scares him. It scares him so badly. “We need to talk.” “What about?” “We love you,” it’s Rory who says it. Rory who looks so nervous, like something fragile is in his hands and one wrong breath will break it. The Doctor wonders, distantly, if he’s that fragile thing. 

“I love you both, too.” He sounds confused. He knows he does. 

Amy bites her lip. 

“That’s just it, Doctor. We love you.” He’s not sure he understands. For a little while, he finds himself frozen like a popsicle before them. Just staring, mute and uncomprehending. Of course the Ponds love him, they’ve always made that clear. And he’s always done what he can to make it clear he loves them. So then why is this important?

Then his mind reaches back. A bit further than Amelia Pond and Clara Oswald. Back, back, back. To blonde hair and glassy hazel eyes.

“I love you.”

Rose. Ah. So that’s what all of this was about. 

“Oh.” He says intelligently. 

Amy barks out a laugh, Rory nervously chuckling along. “Yes, Doctor. Oh. We love love you. Now what do you have to say?” Her smile is almost bitter, eyes hardening as though she’s expecting-

“Oh, Amy.” He doesn’t mean to sound so sad when he says it, but really. After everything, for these two bumbling idiots to think he really wouldn’t love them back is the saddest thing he’s heard in quite a while. “Of course I love you.”

Amy laughs again but this time it’s with relieved tears in her eyes. Rory has gone quiet. The Doctor feels like strangling him. “I love both of you so much I quite literally defied the laws of everything to be here. Really, was there any doubt?”

He moves first. A few steps and he’s got them both in his arms, pulling them as close as he possibly can to make sure they know. To make sure they hear how fast his hearts are beating for them. Rory nuzzles closer and Amy stubbornly wriggles about until she can steal a kiss. 

The Doctor lets himself fall in love, hard and fast and without regret. He’s going to be happy. 

-

“Doctor Pond,” he breathes it like a prayer, eyes watching himself in the mirror as he carefully fixes his bow tie. 

He’s going to be married, today.

They’ve waited a handful of years for this. He’s had a ring for a whole two years now, he’s held the title of fiancé for a whole two years. It feels absurd, and yet the fact that he’s finally getting married is… surreal. 

He feels like he’s floating. 

“Doctor? Are you ready?” Clara’s little voice tears him from his thoughts, and he gives her the brightest grin he can. He’s still not sure how she found her way here, but she did. She’s going to walk him down the aisle, and that thought makes him lightheaded. “As I’ll ever be, I suppose.” Clara laughs in that special little way of here, the one that reminds him of Christmas bells. 

Her arm waits patiently for his own to loop around it, and once it’s there she gives it a gentle squeeze. “It’s going to go fine.” “Of course it is. I’m not nervous. Why would I be? Are-“ “Doctor.” She’s scolding him with a smile, a knowing gleam in her eyes. He huffs, and definitely not like a petulant child. “Fine. I’m nervous. It’s my big day! Of course I am.”

Clara laughs again, resting her head against his shoulder. “Don’t be nervous. You’ve known them your whole life. Sort of. Just pretend they’re the only ones here.” The Doctor does his best to follow her advice as the music starts, but the nerves return when they start moving. His hearts race, he’s fairly certain he’s sweating. 

It all fades when he sees Amy and Rory waiting for him. The sun glows around them, and he’d call them angels if it didn’t bring up so many bad memories to do so. Instead, he calls them ethereal. 

Amy smiles and Rory is already crying. The Doctor just grins. 

He’s never been more excited to say, “I do.”

[snarkyfinch]

Snow Day

Aizawa and his kids enjoy a day in the snow by drying to murder each other in a snowball fight.

Not everyone has a speaking part but everyone is Here. Except Mineta.

-- -- --

Aizawa watches his students with a fond glow to his usually stony eyes, watching as they let themselves be kids for the first time in a while. Kaminari shrieks as Mina shoves snow down his shirt, Asui and Kouda have been working together to make a snow frog for the past ten minutes, and Aizawa is fairly certain Tokoyami and Midoriya are plotting a way to take down Kirishima and Bakugo in a snowball fight. He can’t help but roll his eyes at the familiar shout of, “I’ll kill you!” that comes from the spiked snow-fort. 

These kids.

At his side, Shinsou huffs out a quiet laugh. Aizawa had concerned asking him why he was sitting here with him instead of messing around with the others, but ended up just letting the kid do what he wanted. If he wanted to sit with Aizawa and watch, then so be it. Who was Aizawa to judge when he did the same thing when he was younger? 

“Mister Aizawa!” Kirishima’s voice pulls him from his thoughts, calls his attention to the red-haired student who is now daring to show his face despite the danger of being struck by a snowball. “You should help us!” 

Bakugo protests, though Aizawa notes it isn’t loud enough to be heard properly which implies he really wouldn’t mind. Aizawa stands with a shrug, trailing over at his usual slow pace while Kirishima’s sharky grin widens. “Why not?” 

“Mister Aizawa.” The severe voice of Todoroki draws the teacher’s attention to Midoriya and Tokoyami’s snow fort, which is suspiciously All Might shaped (how they managed that in the heat of a battle, he’ll never know). “I would like to apologize in advance for what’s about to happen.”

If Aizawa was anyone else, he might have laughed. Instead, he gives his best grin, the one that had terrified them all back when they were still new. Now they were all too familiar with it to find it as anything but funny. “Same to you, Todoroki. I won’t be going easy on you even if this isn’t training.” It doesn’t quite get a smile, instead it earns what almost seems to be a smirk. Aizawa is proud of how far Todoroki has come since first starting at UA. He actually feels like a kid now, rather than an adult stuck in a high school class. 

The snowball fight that ensues is chaotic. People join sides until only a few remain on the outskirts, watching their teacher and peers throw balls of snow across the field at one another. Asui stays back, only because the cold has made her drowsy, and Kouda is busy watching alongside the birds. Aoyama soon joins Asui on the sidelines when he decides his good looks are at risk of being harmed, but everyone knows he’s really just not one for games like this. And that’s fine because he cheers people on as they play, and if the occasional snowball seems to fly in from where he sits on the sidelines no one says anything. 

 Sero cackles as Bakugo is taken out by a particularly large snowball from Iida, only to get struck in the face himself. Shinsou joins them at Kaminari’s insistence, and immediately pegs Uraraka in the face. Aizawa takes particular delight in watching Midoriya’s reaction to hitting his teacher, eyes going wide with fear until Aizawa is launching snow back in retaliation. The kid remembers that this is a game Aizawa agreed to participate in after that, and the fear is washed away as quickly as it appeared.

Shouji is a force to be reckoned with, using every arm and then some to lob snowballs across the field at his enemies. Uraraka and Iida work together to make and float over as many snowballs as possible, though this trick stops surprising people around the third time they pull it off.

Momo has made a snowball launcher that she and Jirou work together to keep full and firing, both laughing delightedly the entire time. Sato and Kirishima work together like clockwork, Sato making near-perfect snowballs while Kirishima either lobs them or hands them off to Bakugo.  Hagakure and Ojiro are another duo from hell, Ojiro using his tail as a guard while Hagakure throws snowballs with surprisingly scary accuracy. 

When the time to head in comes along, everyone is cold and tired, but they’re all smiling. Momo offers to make everyone hot chocolate while Kirishima and Sato loudly insist on making cookies. Uraraka offers to help, and soon the group of four are busy in the kitchen. Aizawa finds himself warming up just at the sight of his students being so happy, making sure they all plan to change out of their wet clothes before he turns to leave. A soft tug on his sleeve stops him, makes him turn back to face Kaminari, Jirou, and Shinsou. 

“Stay?” They ask. 

And, really, how was he supposed to say no? 

[snarkyfinch]

He Hides

As the anniversary of a friend’s death approaches, Aizawa reflects. Hizashi pulls him out of his thoughts with a phone call. A character study, of a sorts.

-- --

The wind stirs the ends of his capture weapon, tired black eyes watching the lazy movements of cloth until the wind pauses and the movements cease. The night is quiet, not even a cricket stirs beneath him. The stars gleam dully above him, and below him the streets are swallowed by ink. Spots lit by lone street lamps remain empty, no one else in the world is awake, it would seem. Just one lone hero, sitting on the roof of a building while he waits for time to pass. He waits for the pain in his eyes to ebb away, waits for the distant aching in his arms to dull down once more. Moving, acting, existing. None of it is as easy as it once was, there’s always that tinge of pain behind it, now. He’s getting older, he’s living the life every hero is destined to live.

Save people, fight villains, try not to die. Repeat. This is the life a hero lives until one day they wake up and realize they ache too much, move too slow, to continue. Then, they disappear. Without a second glance, without a word. They vanish into the background of society, another face, another name, to be left as a legend in books. It’s a sad existence, if he really thinks it over, but he can’t be bitter about it. He knew what he was getting into when he first stepped foot into the heroics class, or at least he says he did. He claims to have known all along what the life of a hero really looked like, but people who had known him all that time ago knew better. 

Shouta Aizawa had never had a true dream, in life. 

He lived day to day, dragged his feet as he made his way from set goal to set goal. He didn’t dream of things, he didn’t aspire for things. Aizawa set goals and he made his way to each and every one, no matter what that meant. 

Teach the students, even if that means nights without sleep between grading papers and going on patrol. Protect the students, even if that means risking everything. Save people, even if that means letting them break him down whenever he makes a mistake that they can see. 

It’s tiring, and Aizawa was exhausted to begin with. Unlike people like Hizashi or Nemuri, he didn’t start with energy to spare. Aizawa is a man with nothing, pulling himself apart to try and give something to the world. Pieces of himself left behind, pieces of what he was and what he might have someday become. 

The wind stirs again, a soft gust against his back as his eyes trail slowly to the dorm buildings he can just see on the moonlit horizon. His heart aches for a moment, just a moment, as he watches those buildings. His students are there, resting up before another day of hard work. He wishes, sometimes, that he could tell them. Wishes he could look them in the eyes with a tired smile and say “I’m so proud of you.” They mean the world to him, his students, and yet he’s not sure they’re aware of it. He doesn’t think they know the sacrifices he’s more than willing to make for them, the things that he would give without a second thought, just to give them another day on the earth. 

Aizawa has never been an emotional man, though. Things like that are beyond him, no matter how much he wishes for them. He hasn’t ever been able to express things the way he wants to, hasn’t ever been able to face his feelings because if he does that he’s not sure he’ll be able to continue on the way he does. If he faces his feelings, he may very well break under the weight of them all. 

So, he hides.

His phone finally breaks the silence, a soft buzzing in its place on his belt. He considers ignoring it, but then it buzzes again and he finds himself pulling it out to answer. 

“Hello?” “Shouta! I was worried! Your patrol ended, like, an hour ago and I hadn’t heard anything! You alright?” 

Hizashi has always been a light in his life. Ever since highschool, the loud-mouthed hero had been one of his closest friends. Aizawa had no light of his own, so he often found himself seeking out people who gave off light like the stars. Hizashi, Oboro, Emi, Toshinori. These people who could all smile when he couldn’t, who learned to laugh where he learned to grimace. These were the people he sought out. 

“Shouta?” “I’m fine, ‘Zashi. Just got a bit caught up is all. I’ll be back soon.”

There’s a long pause after that. Aizawa can hear Hizashi’s soft breathing and the distant tinkling sound that tells him one of the cats is wandering nearby. His lips twitch up at that. 

“Are you okay, Sho? I know the anniversary of-” “I’m fine, ‘Zashi. Just a little tired. I’ll be home soon, alright?” “Alright, Sho.” Hizashi relents only because he, of all people, understands Aizawa well enough to know when not to push. “I’ll see you when you get back. I love you.” “Love you, too.” Shouta’s voice comes out at barely a whisper, just loud enough for the phone to catch the phrase before he hangs up. 

The life of a hero is a cruel one, a sad one.

But it doesn’t always need to be a lonely one.

[snarkyfinch]

When your demon husband keeps worrying about whether he’s capable of loving you or not because he’s a demon, you sometimes just gotta cuddle for a week.

[snarkyfinch]

Crowley and Aziraphale telling the other what their execution would’ve been like (after they bodyswapped?)

“They were going to burn you with Hellfire.” Crowley’s voice is hollow as he speaks, eyes on the ceiling as he swirls a glass of wine in one hand. Slowly, almost hypnotically if Aziraphale were really paying it any mind. “They were going to have you walk into Hellfire and burn. Gabriel told you-- well, me-- to shut up and die already. The bastard. He wanted you dead so badly. He--” Crowley stops, sucking in a quivering breath as if suddenly realizing everything he’s feeling is too much.Aziraphale moves forward, pulling his demon into his arms as the wineglass disappears to a nearby table to be forgotten about. “Oh my dear boy,” he murmurs as Crowley burrows deeper, shaking with every sob. “It’s alright, now. None of that will ever happen. I’m here. They won’t be getting rid of me so easily, not while you’re here to keep me safe. Just like I’m keeping you safe.”

Crowley will continue to sob for another hour and a half before falling asleep with his face buried in his angel’s chest. When he wakes the next morning he will not say a word about the tears, but he will make Aziraphale some crepes as a silent apology and thank you.Aziraphale will help, just so Crowley knows kindness doesn’t need to be paid for.

- - - -

“You know, it’s funny. They were upset with us for working together when they worked together to try and kill us.”“What?” Crowley’s eyes meet his and Aziraphale nearly starts at how bright the yellow is in the dark. He never wears his glasses around Aziraphale anymore, not unless he really has to. “What do you mean?““Well, what I mean is... they were going to use Hellfire to kill me, whereas for you they-- well. They had a bathtub filled with Holy Water. They could have only gotten that from each other. Ironic, isn’t it?” He tries to ignore the tremble in his hands as he pours himself a cup of tea, tries to ignore Crowley’s confused but concerned gaze as the demon creeps ever closer.

“A bathtub of-”“Of Holy Water, yes! Yes, Crowley. And to make sure it really was Holy, they threw some other poor demon in and-- oh Crowley, it was horrible. Absolutely terrible!”

Crowley is wrapped around him like a protective demonic sweater, cooing and murmuring softly to try and soothe him as he begins to cry. He hadn’t mean to, honestly, but he can’t help but sob at the idea of Crowley being alone and having to go through all of that.Of Crowley having to get into that bath.

The idea terrifies him more than anything.

“Don’t worry about it, Angel. I’m safe. We’re both safe. Heaven and Hell they- they won’t touch us. They won’t. Never again.”“I know, dear boy, I know. But the idea is just- it-”“I know,” Crowley murmurs into his hair, “I know.”

Aziraphale will let Crowley hold him until he remembers his tea is cooling and still needs cream and sugar, and then he will give Crowley a gentle peck on the lips as he drifts away to hunt down what he needs. Crowley, blushing from the tips of his ears down to his chest, will pour himself a cup of tea to hide behind.

And, together, they will try to forget the deaths they were supposed to have.

[snarkyfinch]

“You worry too much, Dee-Dee!” Remus sets the book down into his lap, leaning over it to put his elbows on his knees. “What’s the worst that can happen?” “We summon a demon and it kills us? Possesses us? Kills our friends and family?” “That won’t happen.” Virgil glances over his shoulder at him, one eyebrow raised. “The summoning spell specifically states that the demon is under our control until we release it.” “No, it says the demon can’t leave the summoning circle until it has been bound in a contract or sent back home by us,” Remus corrects, and Virgil rolls his eyes. “Same shit, Rey.”

Or, in other words, The boys do a summoning as a joke, but end up with a demon on their hands. Shenanigans ensue.

--

Chapter 1 of my new fic about Incubus Logan! - DLAMP - Remus/The Duke is here but he’s also nothing like his series counterpart aside from being loud and weird

[snarkyfinch]

“Dealing with intrusive thoughts” is Deceit’s lesson to the others

[Logan voice] a small caveat: I love how Deceit is developing as this morally grey character. I think his actions/thoughts can be contradictory- some being “good” for character Thomas and others  “bad.” For example, in Can Lying Be Good, Deceit is interested in Thomas just appearing to be a good person rather than actually being a good person- “good” for Thomas on a superficial level, but not all that “good” morally. (More on that here). 

But in Selfishness vs Selflessness, I think Deceit’s argument is that Thomas just thinking of acting in his own self-interest/ being dishonest doesn’t automatically make him a “bad” person. He says,

“But you’re still missing the point! Didn’t it seem kind of ridiculous taking this matter so seriously to the point of settling it in a legal setting?”

As Logan tells us, no-one can be completely honest 100% of the time. If every single time a vaguely dishonest idea crossed your mind, you metaphorically put yourself on trial, you’d be exhausted. And constantly punishing yourself for not being/thinking in a “perfect” way isn’t healthy. 

So, what does this have to do with the Dealing with Intrusive Thoughts video? Well, at the end of SvS, Deceit says,

“I’m trying to teach you a lesson but it’s literally impossible!”

Enter Logan:

“Why don’t you just leave the teaching to me?”

Lightbulb! Alright, why don’t I? Deceit thinks. Enter…

Remus. This little scene shows Remus and Deceit have been talking/ working together behind the scenes, but I don’t think Remus’s entrance is necessarily just about Thomas “no longer deceiving himself” about the “ugliness” within him.

Theory: Deceit encouraged Remus to appear already knowing that Logan could ‘defeat’ him. He knew Logan would be able to teach this lesson, and the others would listen to him: bad thoughts crossing your mind doesn’t mean you’re a bad person.

If Thomas learns to not beat himself up for having intrusive thoughts, maybe he can also realise that him fighting against his self-interest and his friends’ feelings doesn’t automatically make him a bad person.*

(*on another note, Deceit’s lessons to me also definitely have ulterior motives, separate from character Thomas- both Deceit and Remus push to ‘reveal things’ because it will put pressure on Virgil to reveal his history as one of the ‘others’. Slippery, morally grey snake indeed. ;)  )

[snarkyfinch]

[snarkyfinch]

Saw a post where someone says Thomas Sanders “is almost 30 and actively encourages minors to send nsfw art.”

Found out that what actually happened was that a kid who purposefully took their age out of their bio before submitting the art because they were afraid Thomas might get in trouble later forgot about it and re added their age and then people went digging through Thomas’ blog after he made an ace positive post and found it. Dog pile ensues. Thomas apologizes for mistake and says he should have found out the person’s age before publishing.

Y'all have GOT to stop acting like a fucking gaggle of church gossips about this stuff. There is a universe of difference between accidentally accepting something from a minor and ACTIVELY ENCOURAGING it. But someone uses that phrasing and it just gets repeated and twisted even after the minor in question explains what happened.

People already act suspicious of gay men that are just “too” nice and I’m so tired of people constantly looking to prove someone is actually the worst kind of person ever just because they don’t agree with them.

Back up your arguments rather than digging for unrelated dirt.