#I could write exposition for DAYS about this

[izzyeffinhands]

… listen I am all about Izzy being his most beautiful and pretty self. No one ever told him that before and he never thought he could ever be that, because how can you possibly feel pretty when you have a beautiful gorgeous man like Ed around? Izzy has always felt lesser. He’s always been the shadow no one really wanted around. He was a shadow even when younger with Ed and CJ, mostly feeling like the third wheel, only to become that AGAIN with Ed and Stede.

So when he feels pretty it’s the most special thing in the fucking world. It’s Izzy being vulnerable, showing himself to the entire world. Look at me. My name is Izzy Hands.

And I’m fucking beautiful.

[allophonicmess]

Too Sweet

Logan Howlett x fem!Reader

Act 1

Remember that inspo I posed the other day? I coudn't let it go and decided to write a three part fic based on it.

Warnings: spoilers for Deadpool& Wolverine, descriptions of a panic attack, angst, implicaded age gap

word count 2k

No beta and English isn't my first language

there will be fluff later on but sadness first:

Too Sweet

Logan felt a great mix of emotions since he had followed that red-ass clown Wade into this universe. Most of it was anger, confusion, rage… But In that moment as he was sat on the black beat-up couch among Wade’s friends… He was overwhelmed.

Not by sensory overload, although that casserole that blind Al had made did stink up the place with garlic-

He was overwhelmed by the feeling of happiness, joy and companionship of the people around him. He hadn’t felt that way in ages if he ever did at all. He never felt that way with his team before everything happened.

He liked them, sure. But this company of weirdos shared a Kinmenship he never got to experience.

“Hey, Peanut! Are you angrily staring off into space to allow for good exposition?” Wade had plopped down on the couch right next to him. His jeans-clad thigh rubbed right up to his. At this point, Logan had given up on trying to keep him out of his personal space.

The older man frowned and stared at Wade next to him. His beer was getting warm but he didn’t feel like giving up his spot on the couch.

“The fuck are you talking about?” He huffed, taking another sip of his beer. But Wade just clicked his tongue, scooting even closer to Wolverine.

“Aww, you know what I mean! You are big and gruff and don’t talk that much… It’s kinda hard to capture you in writing you know. There are only so many words in the English language to describe your grunting and-“

“Are you done?” Logan sighed, finishing his drink. He was starting to regret coming with Wade. Getting drunk in some shit hole of a bar sounded better than listening to Wade's babbling.

“See! That’s what I mean. Sigh is nice, sure but it doesn’t quite capture the nature of those beautiful noses you make, big boy.” Wade petted Logan's thigh, which the older man quickly pulled away as he stood up abruptly.

“Jesus fucking- Can’t you annoy someone else? You got all of these muppets to talk to. Stop bothering me god damn it.” Logan placed the empty bottle down on the couch table. He scanned the room, looking for someone else that Wade could annoy to death. His eyes landed on the brunette… Vanessa… He knew that something had been going on between Wade and her. He never told him the details but from the pining look Wade gave her and the sad as fuck sighs he made, it was clear that the motherfucker wasn’t over her.

“Go and talk to the girl for god's sake. She might be the only one here to appreciate it.” He grinned at Wade, enjoying how his stupid grin faltered even for just a second. He leaned down on Wade's level, whispering to him in an overly joyous manner. “It might even get you laid.”

They stared at each other for a hot minute. Both men tying to provoke the other into action. But Logan was getting bored so he pushed “I might try if you don’t have the balls-“

“Fine!” It came out way too loud. Wade got up quickly trying to keep up his jolly attitude. “Fine, I will. But not because you said so.”

“Or threatened you.”

“You didn’t threaten me.”

“Sure, if you need to believe that” Logan got back onto the couch, now stretching out lazily across it. He closed his eyes, pretending to snooze.

There was no witty comeback, which surprised Logan. But it only came to show that Wade was serious for once.

Logan would never tell but he warmed up to Deadpool. He respected the man, despite his annoying and borderline brain-rotting bad humour. But he had principles. He cared for those around him, loved them dearly and would do anything to protect them. He did in fact. Logan spread out on his worn leather sofa is proof of it. He hated to admit it but Wade was the better man of the two. He didn’t let those he loves down, running away like the drunk asshole Logan is. Wade would have come to help her, would have-

The obnoxiously loud ringing of Wade’s apartment doorbell ripped Logan out of his self-deprecating talk. He blinked against the bright ceiling light and watched as Wade sighed softly. He had just started his conversation with Vanessa and it seemed to be quite a good talk from the looks of it. He seemed frustrated to be ripped away from it. Wade nodded softly, towards Vanessa, excusing himself but he was stopped by Colossus.

“No please Wade, I get it. You seem to be engaged in an interesting conversation.” The 7’5’’ metal man said, touching Wade by the shoulder to turn him back towards to woman. Logan huffed, he wasn’t the only one trying to get Wade laid.

The giant stomped towards the door, turning the doorknob that looked comically small in his silver hand to let the latecomer in.

“Hi! I’m so sorry for being late. I still had to finish some work. It’s the end of the semester, you know how it is.” A sweet voice called from outside.

Then two things happened at the same time. It was like a push and pull.

Ellie, Yukio, even that odd taxi driver… they all turned towards the door in excitement. Smiling and wooing at the woman that just entered the apartment with a cake carrier tucked under her arms.

Logan on the other hand? He felt like he couldn’t breathe. He sat there, staring as Colossus pulled her into a big hug, lifting her off the ground before taking the container off her hands to allow the others to greet her. She was smiling, laughing at some joke Ellie had cracked at her.

She looked younger. Maybe she was, who knows how time worked in this universe. Or it was the lack of stress she had to face, no heartbreak, no constant rejection from a bastard that couldn’t see that the best thing was right in front of him.

“Ah, there you are! We were starting to miss you!” Wade pulled her into a tight hug. He seemed to be content. And the older man cursed himself for even caring about it.

She hadn’t noticed him yet, or so he hoped. Maybe she didn’t know him. It would be for the best.

“Yeah, I already told Piotr, I had to finish some lesson planning at the academy before the school year is over.” She replied as she greeted Vanessa and the rest of the group.

“Oh right. You are the only one that actually knows what she’s doing at that school.” Wade joked, earning a playful remark from Colossus.

So she also studied at a human university before starting at the school, Logan noted. He was still stuck on the couch, feeling unable to move as he kept staring at her.

“You know her?” The sudden comment coming from right next to him made Logan flinch.

“Whoa, relax man. I just noticed you staring at her for like 5 min straight. And you don’t seem too happy about her being here.” Ellie stood next to him, casually watching the scene just as he did.

“None of your fucking business.” Logan managed to spit out. While he did get startled, the interruption helped him to finally feel able to move again. And it happened just at the right moment. He needed to get the fuck out of there.

Ellie just huffed, watching Logan get up on shaky legs. It could just be from the constant level of alcohol in Logan’s blood, making his knees weak, or the age. But she suspected that there was more.

Yet Logan’s attempt at a quiet escape was hindered by Piotr, calling him to come to the kitchen to introduce the two.

“Come to kitchen! I want you to meet my good friend Y/N. She also works at the school. You will like her”, the man sounds proud. He should be.

Logan ignored him, pushing his way through the small crowd with shaky steps. Why was he sweating for god's sake?

“Logan!”

“No” He called, breathing was getting harder again.

“Logan!”

“I’m good! I’m-“ He finally reached the door, rattling the doorknob and cursing that his fucking fingers got shaky. Everything was too loud and too hot and too-

“Wade, it’s fine. He doesn’t have to.“ She tried to stop the two men next to her from calling the man over. He was clearly in distress and it hurt her to watch him fumble on his way out. There were only so many people that were scared of her outside the battlefield.

She had met “their” Logan, but only briefly at some anniversary event. They had simply mismatched their time at the school. He left shortly after Y/N started working and they hadn’t met much. She wondered what the other her must have done to him to cause such a reaction.

Finally. Fucking finally. The door opened and Logan simply burst into the hallway, rushing down the steps to feel the air rush back into his lungs. A fucking embarrassment. That is what he was. The Wolverine scared shitless by a woman that doesn’t even know him.

But the other one did and it killed her.

“Logan, what in the ever-loving- fuck was that?” Wade had run after him. He just couldn’t leave it alone, could he?

“Fuck off.” Logan breathed weakly. He felt tears prickling in his eyes and it made him hate himself just a little bit more.

“You just running off? Scared of a girl?” Wade kept pushing, following Logan as he walked down the familiar street towards his bar of choice. That being the cheapest and quietest he could find in the city.

“Scared you can’t get one off? I don’t wanna make predictions but man, I think she is into the dark brooding type” he kept pushing “ Or you know what? If I can’t get Vanessa laid I might try with her, I mean she is quite-“

That made Logan snap. Turning around and impaling Wade against the closest wall. Both sets of claws out and push into the other man's torso. He only groaned in return.

“Don’t you fucking dare! Don’t you fucking-“

“Okay, okay, whoa ow… man-“ Wade coughed, lifting his hands in surrender. “ I was only joking man. Unfair. Fuck. I am unarmed-urgh”

Logan retracted the claws letting Wade drop to the floor. He knew the man was joking, he should. But it was all too fucking much too soon. He wouldn’t let it happen again. And how to best prevent the inevitable heartbreak? Don’t even let her get close, to begin with. She didn’t deserve it. She never did in the first place and he would do anything in his power to stop it from happening to her.

“So, you are just leaving me hanging? It’s your party too, you know.” Wade got up, inspecting the bloody holes that stained his new shirt. He cursed softy.  “Damn, it was brand new. Ruining a perfectly good shirt for the exposition”

“Don’t wait for me,” Logan said, turning away from Deadpool. A cheap bottle of whisky was waiting for him to calm his nerves and forget about that fucking stunt. He won’t see her again, not even talk to her or talk about her. It’s for the best. She would agree if she knew,  Logan was sure of it.

New requets for being added to the list via comments on the Masterlist post, please. That helps me to keep things organized :)

Do comment here for feedback and spreading some love ❤️

[fingertipsmp3]

Spent way too fucking long not writing and now I can’t write anymore

[seraphinitegames]

The Wayhaven Chronicles—Update 13/Sept/2024

Well, my internet was mostly back this week! :D

I always take even half-working internet as a bonus these days, lol. But having it mostly back did mean I could finally finish up the social media this week!

But apart from that, my full focus was Chapter Four. It’s a more linear chapter—waaay more than the doozy of a variable chapter that was the previous one, lol!—so I really want to get ahead on this one.

Which I have been doing even better than I was pushing for! The big opening scene is already finished! It includes quite a bit of exposition about Li-Sar and what they’ve been up to, and that was fun to start sowing all the seeds of foreshadowing, hehe! ;D

I do sometimes get asked about advice on how to avoid telling instead of showing, so to that I say—don’t worry! For a start, it’s your story, and you can write it how you want, always remember that! All these writing ‘rules’ are guidelines, advice. You don’t have to choose to follow them if it doesn’t suit your style. I’ve read plenty of stories where I’ve been told a character is scared and not shown it through a paragraph of description—it reads just fantastic either way!

I do try and not to do big exposition dumps, but I don’t worry about it when the story genuinely needs it. Just write it in a fun and digestible way, and your reader will be more informed without it being too bogged down in the scene!

Having multiple characters to bounce off each other and react to the information is always a great way to break up the wealth of information, as well as having the MC react to it too with choices in Wayhaven’s case! This is also where having Unit Bravo in for meetings when this kind of things happens is perfect, even better when the LI can have some kind of emotional moment to it all too, hehe! ;D

I’m already part way through the next scene, which is another much more linear one where it’s only two characters, which makes things A LOT smoother to write!

I do love my branching scenes and variation, but it’s nice to have a more straight-forward chapter as a break too, lol!

And speaking of break, I will be away next week, trying to recharge my batteries and rest my brain! But I will be back on the 23rd September and diving straight back into it…especially considering the scene I’m currently working on. Things are getting…electric ;)

Hope you all have the most fantastic week ahead! I’ll update you all again after I get back! <3

[tokoyamisstuff]

Fragments Pt. 1/3

Homelander / GN! Reader

Ch. 1: Fallen Angel

Summary: After a new drug rendered Homelander both powerless and amnesic, he gets saved by someone blissfully unaware of who he is.

Shoutout to @blindmagdalena who did the impossible: Making me simp for this guy. Your writing is simply impeccable! 💌

Warnings: Injury, blood, lots of exposition, not proofread

Notes: Hurt/comfort, OOC, pre-canon, Scientist! Reader, idc about logic gaps (I will cry if you point them out to me)

Four days already, and he still hasn't woken up.

Winter in the Canadian Arctic was rough, with the polar night bringing permanent darkness, as well as severe snowstorms that could last up to a week.

Luckily enough your old radio communication system was still functioning, so you were at least able to request a few necessities in advance: Food and water for another person, a doctor of course...

...and clothes for the guy you had to cut out of this ridiculous costume to patch him up properly.

Leaning back in your chair, you take some deep breaths, unable to concentrate on your work. Your glance unwillingly wanders back to the man lying on your bed, still unconscious.

Who knows how long the weather will cut you off from help arriving? You just hope he will make it until then.

Maybe it's for the better, though - since whoever had done this to him could still be out there wanting to finish the job, too.

It bordered on a miracle that he landed so close to your research station, when you were outside to notice at that. And the storm followed only shortly after you managed to pull him inside.

That man really had more luck than anything, even while having been messed up like this.

You watch him until you're sure he's still breathing and not in any discomfort, once again catching yourself admiring his handsome features.

If you didn't know any better, you'd say he was a literal fallen angel that crashed from the goddamn sky, right into your little front yard.

Damn it, the loneliness that came with this job made even your thoughts pathetic...

Well, to your defense, you've been raised pretty isolated your whole life, with parents being a doctor and a scientist that were devoted to spend their work at the most remote areas of the world.

It surely was a unique childhood with lots of traveling, and you were mostly spared the soulless corporate-controlled bullshit that was modern society. To add to that, your parents were never fond of using electronics for more than practical reasons. Not that there was internet connection where you lived either way.

All in all, while you obviously know about supes in general and might even have heard about Homelander the brief time you spent in civilization, the last time you've actually seen his face on a magazine or some sort was decades ago - and you didn't care enough to remember.

So it was no wonder that you were completely oblivious to who exactly was lying in your bed this whole time.

Sighing, you close your laptop with a dramatic gesture before making your way to the kitchen unit. You pour yourself a coffee to fill your rumbling stomach, having rationed the food in favor of your new involuntary roommate.

Having followed the footsteps of your parents - yet without proper funding - you led this mission all by yourself. At first it was bearable, since an elder native couple came to visit and assist you from time to time.

But your work demanded you to stay secluded from human intervention, deep in the mountains with the next tiny village being half a day march away. And now that winter made traveling scarce due to the dangers, the idea of some company certainly wasn't so bad.

You almost felt bad for being excited about him being here - whatever had happened to make him end up here was exactly the oppsite of great, after all.

Even though the emergency power aggregate was whirring loudly, the sound of strained groans reaches your ear - not the first time those past few days. So you immediately rush over to the man's side, pouring him a glass of water and dissolving some painkillers in it.

"It's gonna be alright" you assure him, unable to tell if he can even hear in this state. Blood is seeping through the makeshift bandages, making you realize you should probably reapply them soon. Maybe after the meds had some time to release their effect...

...however, just when the cup touched his lips, two icy blue eyes snapped open, making you wince.

"Don't touch me, fuck!" a raspy voice snapped at you, quite understandable in his situation. He pushed you away from him, causing you to stumble and fall as the glass scattered on the floor right next to you.

"Whe-where am I? And who the fuck are you?!"

"Who the fuck am I?" You felt almost offended at the accusation in his look, having to remind yourself that the person in front of you is in fact in an exceptional situation. "You're in my house. I found you injured in the middle of nowhere. So I should be asking you!"

His face fell in shock at the realization, internal struggle present in his features as he finally whispered - no, whimmered "I...can't remember..."

Racketing his brain around to make sense of the situation, he stumbled across his own words and repeated "I-I-I-I can't remember!"

"Can't remember what exactly?" You spoke more softly now as you got up, tentatively approaching him. He on the other hand jumped up from the bed, panic increasing with every passing second.

"Anything! I-I don't know who I am- shit, what happened?!" He was shaking, muscular chest having as he started to hyperventillate. You hesistantly put your hand on his back, feeling him tense at the sudden contact. "Please don't move too much. You're injured."

Only now he noticed the medical wraps around his chest, abdomen, left arm and both legs. Hell, his whole body was aching but the adrenaline wouldn't let this stop him from standing up, pacing around the small room.

Being overwhelmed with the situation as well, you decided it was best to tell him everything. "D-don't freak out, but we're in the middle of the arctic." Having a feeling that he wouldn't believe you - fair enough, though - you opened the door, revealing a snowy landscape. The doorway was already halfway buried under a snowy blanket, and the heavy winds were biting his exposed skin. "We'll have to wait until the storm settles. And even then, with your injuries you probably won't make it to the nearest village."

There was a long pause of silence between your explanation and his response, blinking at you in both disbelief and despair. "...if you don't know me, then how the hell did I get here?"

"My best guess is that you're a supe" you shrugged, hoping his memory loss didn't also affect his general knowledge. You pointed towards the torn bodysuit in the bin, stating matter-of-factly "You literally fell out of the sky. Even with the snow absorbing part of the impact, you should be dead - especially with those injuries."

Not really good at comforting someone, huh, you internally scolded yourself. Yet you gave it your best to calm him down and sign your goodwill.

"Sit down or your wounds will reopen." After a brief moment of looking at you all forlorn and maybe even a little distrustful, he accepted your help. You led him back to the edge of the bed, sitting next to each other as support for him to stay upright.

"Doesn't feel like anything about this body is 'super' right now..." he joked bitterly, rubbing his sides. You chuckle sympathetic, carefully patting his back in reassurance. "Maybe you don't have access to your powers because of the amnesia? I'm not quite sure how any of this works."

"Yeah, maybe..." His eyes were now locked on you, forcing a weak smile as he finally took a proper look at you. "You still didn't tell me to who I owe my life."

"Me?" as inappropriate as it was for the situation, he did manage to make you flustered just by that - and it didn't really help that he was still only in his underwear, testing your decency not to stare. "Oh, my name's Y/N Y/L/N. I'm an ecologist. Been here for eight months to document the effects of climate change on the biome, and-"

"Climate change?" he rose an eyebrow at you, "There's a goddamn snowstorm outside, woman."

Oh. He was one of those guys. Note taken.

"Anyways" you changed the topic to not provoke a pointless discussion, still unable to keep yourself from rolling your eyes. "Do you at least remember your name?"

The man clutched the ragged costume you had handed him, forcing his exhausted self to remember something, anything at all...

...but every time he tried, there was a sharp pain in his forehead that tore him away from the memories locked away somewhere in his brain.

And smehow, no matter how insane it might sound, he felt like this was his own mind's subtle warning to better keep it this way.

"I think...my name's John" he ultimately stated, rubbing his temples as his face contorted in pain. You continued rubbing circles on his back in an attempt to comfort him, whispering "Hey, don't overdo it. Focus on healing first, and then we'll see if anything else comes back. Alright?"

John nodded mutely, and you gifted him an uplifting smile, cheering "Well then, nice to officially meet you, John! Feel at home as long as you need."

He shook your hand almost symbolically, feeling almost hopeful knowing that despite the grim situation, he was supported by such a kind stranger.

"Nice to meet you too, Y/N. I'm all in your hands."

_____

A/N: This was written on my phone at 1am, so please bear with me. The next chapters are gonna be better.

[Part Two]

[sugaryplum]

broken ankles and middle names

pairing: theodore nott x fem!reader summary: after a silly accident involving the hogwarts' infuriating moving stairs, you're found by a certain quiet boy (whom you not-so-secretly adore). warnings: no good exposition whatsoever, language mistakes, chaotic+flirty reader i want to be her!!! notes: this is part of a bigger story that i will probably never finish writing, let alone publish, so if it seems completely out of context, that's why. this is also the first thing on this tumblr blog and the first written thing i'm ever showing to tumblr besides poetry!!🤭 i hope you like it 🤍 let me know

“what on earth happened to you?”

the situation is silly and absurd, so you laugh, despite the sharp pain that almost makes your eyes water. theo is kneeling beside you with a confused expression on his face, looking from your swollen ankle to your face.

“can you help me to the hospital wing? i can’t walk.”

all you have to do is look at him and he carefully picks you up from the cold floor. you put your arms around his neck for support. “i was walking up the stairs. and then the stairs moved. and then i fell. you know, i’m glad you’re here, there’s not a single soul on the corridors at this time of day, i was just going to get some books, i have free period–”

“you should watch where you’re walking.” his voice sounds like honey and if you weren’t basically laying in his arms right now, your knees would definitely go weak. but you act unbothered. “maybe i should’ve. but then you wouldn’t carry me. maybe this is a win after all.”

“you’re infuriating.” the small smile that cracks on his face doesn’t go unnoticed, especially when you can see his lips from up close.

“infuriating is my middle name.” there’s a lot of things you can see from up close. his eyelashes are long and he has more freckles than you thought. you like how the ends of his hair twist and fall on his forehead.

“annoying.”

“middle name.”

“stop with the middle names.”

after no more than a minute of silence you speak up again. “you’re so quiet.”

“you think so?” a normal person who doesn’t talk to theodore on the daily basis, probably wouldn’t be able to tell if he’s being sarcastic or not. but you are not a normal person. you pay way too much attention.

you come up with a response and giggle before you even get the chance to say it. “you could say that quiet is your middle nam–”

“if i dropped you right now, i bet you'd be whining like crazy.”

“there’s no need to test that.” you hold on to his neck a little tighter. “besides, you’re lucky i’m not whining right now. i’m in enormous amounts of pain.”

“i can tell. your ankle is twice its normal size.”

“you seem to know my ankles pretty well.” theo chuckles more audibly at your words and your heart flutters.

“that's my secret. i've been staring at them since fifth year.”

you gasp, pretending to be shocked. “i never knew my ankles were so desirable! now you got me worried, that fall might’ve been a threat to my beauty…”

“oh, very much so. you're lucky you had me there to carry you and take care of you in such a tragic moment.”

you never thought hogwarts' insanely big castle was exactly convenient. you’re constantly late for classes, walking takes up half of your daily life and you never know what is creeping around the corner. but now, when you’re being carried through it by the boy you like so much, maybe it’s a blessing in disguise?

“how far away is that wing?” you ask in a whiny tone just to get this attention, but in your mind and in your heart you thank merlin for the long corridors.

“don't you dare even start to complain now, after i carried you all this way.”

“i’m not complaining about you, i’m complaining about the castle. although i’m sure i could find some complaints about you…”

“oh?” he looks at you, slightly amused. “go ahead, do your worst.”

“well, for starters, you make weird comments about my ankles.”

“your ankles are my favorite thing about you.”

“that’s an insult.”

“you’re an insult.”

“MIDDLE NAME.”

he sighs and he calls you insufferable and you smile. you can expect the hospital wing right around the corner, but you wouldn’t mind staying in the pretty boy’s arms for a little longer.

[gallaghersgal]

Maggie, my lovey I come with another request for you!

The second chance romance trope, x my husband, Carmy.

Ok so walk with me here 🚶🏻‍♀️,

Carmy had one time forgotten about his anniversary with r, & she of course got very upset & sad about it. So he made sure the next day (without letting her find out) to go to the florist and place a standing order for flowers on their anniversary every year so she would never be able to tell if he forgot again.

Alright so flash forward years later, they break up. They both are pining for eachother / miss eachother a lot but Carmy was the one who called things off so R doesn’t try to contact him and Carmy is Carmy.

Their anniversary comes around and Carmy forgets of course because since they broke up he’s been even more of an animal in the kitchen but the flowers get delivered to R and of course it has the same note she got every year ‘Happy Anniversary baby, I love you always, xx- Bear’ at first she’s confused but then she is hopeful it was him reaching out to try and reconcile so she bites the bullet and calls him and is like “you still love me?” And mentally he’s like

*fffffuuuuuuuuuuck*

& has to explain that he placed a standing order so she could never be mad at him for forgetting again but he really does miss her

I’ll leave it up to you if r gets back together with him or if you want it to be pure angst!

(🤞fingers crossed it sends this time)

my dear capri, i love the exposition you've dropped in my inbox!!! here's the aftermath of receiving the flowers :(( warnings; angst, no happy ending, and swearing. also, here's the playlist i listened to while writing

from this trope list. part of my 1,500 follower celebration. masterlist -> here!

there are flowers at your door.

you've been fighting back tears the whole day. work was hell, your irritability heightened by the fact you'd barely eaten breakfast, not even bothering with lunch. it was harder now without carmen around. you've been angry all day, heels clicking in obnoxious stomps, your stomach burning and head pounding, and there are flowers at your door.

you kneel down to read the card, your heart clenching at the words. 'happy anniversary beautiful girl, i love you always. love, your carmen' a shaking hand comes to your mouth, you fumble with your keys to make it inside before you lose it entirely. he still loves you?

you dial carmen's number, hearing it ring twice before he picks up. "you sent me flowers?"

"o-oh, uh. t-that's a funny story, actually-"

your stomach twists in a knot. "i'd love to hear exactly how this is funny, carmen."

"well, forever ago, when i forgot our anniversary? i placed a standing order. so- so that way you'd always have flowers."

your heart sinks. he couldn't even bother to remember the date himself. worse, he didn't remember to cancel them. "you're fucking joking," you spit out.

"i-i'm not. baby-"

"don't call me that," you snap at him, your living room suddenly feeling claustrophobic. you push your window open to take a deep breath of the fresh air, turning your back to the wall and sinking down next to the plant he'd gifted you, moved inside to avoid the recent cold snap. a hand over your mouth muffles your sobs, your heart breaking all over again at this new information. "i can't believe you."

"i'm.. i'm s-sorry-"

"no! you don't get to apologize, that doesn't fix shit." you're practically yelling at him now, and you can hear the tears in his voice. but you don't care. it's about time you gave him a piece of your mind, hurting him the way he'd hurt you. "i thought for one goddamn second that maybe you still loved me. but- but you're just self-fucking-centered. so lost in your head you couldn't even remember to cancel flowers for the girl who's heart you snapped in two."

the silence on the other end tells you everything you need to know. you don't let him even try to continue, snapping at him, "lose my number, carmen."

there's a muffled noise on the other end, but you hang up without the chance to process it. your phone falls to the tile floor with a loud thud that echoes through your empty apartment. you flinch, then let out a noise somewhere between a scream and a sob.

the sound finds its way through your window, falling down to the street below, to the ears of the man repeating your name into his phone. "b-baby," he pleads, his voice breaking. but you've hung up now. he can't believe he forgot those stupid fucking flowers.

at least it showed him how you truly felt. that it would've been stupid to go through with it. stupid to walk up to your door with nothing but a barely planned apology to mend your broken heart.

carmen looks up to see your open window, balcony distinctly missing the potted plant he'd gifted you a year ago. a shaky hand lights a cigarette and he takes a hit but the smoke does nothing to soothe him as he draws his eyes away, turning away from your building for the final time.

[scififettuccine]

A Wild Fix: Part 1.5?

Pairing: Platonic!Butcher x Supe!Reader

Summary: 3 weeks into your alliance with The Boys, you and Butcher go through the Vought Database. Butcher being curious about a Supe he's never heard of leads him to put together a plan that's less than safe. But does he listen to your warnings? Of course not.

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: Exposition, mentions of casinos, mention of suicide

Notes: Hey ya'll! Long time no see! You're probably wondering what the fuck this is. As you may have noticed I haven't posted anything in a few days. This is because when I got into writing Part 2, it became A LOT more complex and involved than I intended, including new characters and a sharp left turn in the story line that I didn't plan. Considering the results from the pole, I figured no one would really be mad if I did this. Part 1.5 is A LOT of exposition, setting up the actual second installment of the series. I could have made Part 2 longer, but it was way past how many words I wanted to have in each installment. I didn't want to call this an actual part two, because this alone isn't long enough to qualify as its own part, so...✨1.5✨ As you can most likely tell, I'm not following the canon plot exactly, I find that to be EXTREMELY boring. I know it's something that some people don't love, but at the end of the day it's creative writing and I enjoy doing it. Here is a link to Part 1 if you missed it! The official part 2 of A Wild Fix will be out very soon, but for now, enjoy this expositional interlude from our good lad, William Butcher.

It was safe to say that, since your first meeting? You and Frenchie didn’t get along very well. You had been running with The Boys for almost a month now, yet the two of you couldn’t agree on a single thing. But honestly? That didn't really matter to you. He didn't seem like the kind of person you wanted to be close with, anyway.

You had adjusted pretty well to this double standard of life, working for Vought, and working with The Boys. You were very careful, and there hadn’t been any close calls…yet. As for adjusting to the basement hideout? That didn't necessarily get any easier. You had carved out a little spot for yourself in one of the less occupied corners, just big enough to set your computer down, and maybe put a cup of coffee off to the side. And at the moment, that's where you sat. Working out time to help out wasn’t very hard. You were a member of The Seven, yes, but due to your powers, you were more of an alternate. You still went to meetings, and you still lived in the tower, you just weren't sent out as much. Butcher had requested that you dig into a few things for him in the Vought database. The Vought database had become available to you since you signed the contract with the company. It didn’t contain anything majorly world shattering, just some more detailed info on every Supe that had ever been involved with the company, including deceased, and currently active Supes. The info pages almost reminded you of trading cards, you laughed to yourself at the thought. It almost made you wonder why Vought hadn’t cashed in on some sort of trading card game.

“Something funny, love?” Butcher asked. You could see him approaching from behind in the reflection of your laptop screen.

“Yeah, actually…” You said, beckoning him over. Butcher crouched down next to your chair, looking at the computer screen. “Don’t those stats kinda look like trading cards? I mean, even the way it’s set up. Surprised Vought hasn’t cashed in on that yet.” Butcher raised a brow and leaned a bit closer to the screen, letting out a small ‘hmph’ sound. 

“You’re not wrong.” He examined the screen for a moment. “So you can see every Supe that's ever been involved with the company?” You nodded.

“For the most part, yes. But usually if there's anything they need to hide, the Supe goes to whoever runs the database and asks for that piece of information to be taken off of it. It’s actually in the contract somewhere, in the fine print, if I remember.” Butcher gave a small hum of acknowledgement.

“So if I had to guess, Homelander doesn't even have a file?” He asked. You narrowed your eyes towards the screen as you clicked out of the file you were on, and searched Homelander’s name in the top bar. When the file came up, you clicked it. Low and behold…? Not much. Just his in-company stats, The Seven logo, showing his affiliation with the group, and the year he had been signed onto the company. 

“Yeah…nothing much. Most of The Seven are like this, actually. If I remember correctly…” You clicked out of Homelander’s file, and clicked on the search bar again. You went to type in ‘Maeve,’ but Butcher stopped you, placing his finger over one of the file cards on the screen.

“Who’s that bloke?” He asked. You raised a brow and moved his finger out of the way. He had been pointing to a file card for the Supe named Mixer, who belonged to a new Vought owned Supe team that had been gaining steam recently…Residency. Vought had always sort of branded it as the new age Payback, but it was more of a marketing thing. The Supes on the team were legit, powerful, and some of them popular…But it definitely wasn't anything close to Payback. Mixer, admittedly, was one of the more known Supe’s on the team. He had been a musician first, gaining popularity from his young start in the industry. And as soon as Vought could get its bloodstained hands on the poor guy? He was signed on. Now? He had a residency at Planet Vought Casino & Resort in Las Vegas, and a spot in Residency.

“That's Mixer. He’s around my age, I think…Super popular in the music industry.” You explained, clicking on his file card.

“You know’im?” He asked. You shook your head as you scrolled through his file. 

“I met him at a convention a few years back, around this time of year actually…He seemed kinda full of himself. He has a residency now, though, kinda ironic, at Vought’s casino in Las Vegas.” You explained. Butcher nodded, clearly thinking.

“How is it ironic?” He asked.

“Mixer is part of a Supe team too, but the team is called Residency. So I thought it was kinda funny that he had an actual residency-” Butcher cut you off.

“Another Supe team? Owned by Vought?” You nodded.

“Yeah. It's him, Klepto, Bloodshot, Laugh Track, Void-” Butcher cut you off again, before you could even finish naming the members.

“The convention you met him at…Was it a Supe convention?” 

“Yeah. But not like the crazy fan ones. It's by invite only. All of Voughts Supes go, it’s a huge event. They invite new, upcoming Supes, and Vought investors. It’s a 3 day affair. They usually hold it at the Casino location that's here in the city, though, not the one in Vegas.” You turned your head to look at him, narrowing your eyes. What was he thinking?

“You said it was around this time of year?” He asked, turning the laptop towards himself so he could scroll.

“Yeah, usually towards the middle of fall…Why do you ask?” You raised a brow.

“I’m assuming you're invited?” He asked, the smirk on his face growing.

“Yeah, like I said, most contracted Supes are there. Annie is going too, we kinda have to…You’re not thinking what I think you are…right?” You asked, narrowing your eyes once again.

“That's exactly what I’m thinking, love.” He chuckled and stood up. “A whole casino full of Supes and Vought officials? That's practically an information gold mine. And with your connections? We’re bound to uncover something. Do you get a plus one or anythin like’at?”

“I’m pretty sure contracted Supes get two guest passes, but this is out of the question, Butcher. Digging at a Vought run Supe convention? It’s suicide for anyone involved.” You said, closing your computer. This wasn't a good idea, not even in the slightest.

“So if both you and Hughie’s girl go, that's four guest passes between the two of you?” He asked.

“Yes but-” Butcher cut you off before you could protest.

“Just enough passes for Hughie, MM, Frenchie, and meself. It’s settled, then, love.” Butcher gave a smug smile and patted your shoulder. You cringed internally. Butcher wouldn’t take no for an answer…and you didn’t favor the idea of being on his bad side.

 If you were caught, no, if any of you were caught snooping around at this convention? You’d be dead before you could leave the building…or worse.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

And that's the end of my exposition bomb. Again, Part 2 is coming very soon, and I'm sorry that I had to break it up like this. This series became more involved than intended, as you can probably see. More information regarding Residency and its significance is to come👀 Stay tuned to get back to your regularly scheduled Frenchie x Reader content <3 Adieu!

teeny tiny taglist: @llynx7 @stinkysam

[writingquestionsanswered]

I was wondering if you could help me with writing scenes where the poverty character is listening to others talk but not talking themselves? Sometimes I worry it's almost like they get forgotten in between all the actions and dialog happening between other characters

POV Character Listening to Conversation

1 - Give Them Lines - I know this is a little bit "Thanks, Captain Obvious," but it is worth considering why it's important for the POV character to only listen and not participate in the conversation at all. Even if the POV character has nothing to add to the topic being discussed, there might be an opportunity or two for them to ask questions or react to what's being said. For example:

Character B's brow crumpled. "Why? What time did they get there?"

"I don't know. Two, maybe three a.m.," replied Character C.

POV character hissed through their teeth. "Talk about early risers..."

2 - Give Them Action - Even if there's a good reason they can't participate in the conversation, like maybe because it's not their place (like a child listening while their parents talk to other adults), they still exist during the conversation, and you can illustrate that by having them interact physically with other characters or the environment. For example:

Character B's brow crumpled. "Why? What time did they get there?"

"I don't know. Two, maybe three a.m.," replied Character C.

POV character craned their neck to hear better.

Or...

Character B's brow crumpled. "Why? What time did they get there?"

"I don't know. Two, maybe three a.m.," replied Character C.

POV character flipped to the time sheet on the clipboard and handed it to Character C. "Oops, I was off a bit. Four-thirty a.m.," C amended.

3 - Give them exposition - Another option is to give the POV character some exposition, letting them describe their observations to the reader, process what they're seeing and hearing, and express how they feel about it. So, for example:

Character B's brow crumpled. "Why? What time did they get there?"

"I don't know. Two, maybe three a.m.," replied Character C.

POV character craned their neck to hear better. The noise from the nearby freight yard made it difficult to hear what B and C were saying. POV's nerves were already on edge without the added fear of missing important details. But C was soft-spoken on the best of days. You could be standing right next to them and not hear what they were saying.

In most cases you're probably going for a combination of these techniques, depending on the limitations of the situation.

I hope that helps!

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

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[hollowtones]

first yiik impressions?

Hi. Thanks for your message. I've been thinking about this for days. I wrote paragraphs. Here you go!

Everyone talks up how the game is bad, but I've never looked into it much myself, so I went in with an expectation along the lines of "people whose opinions I often agree with think it was an awful mess, I'll likely think something similar". Expectations were low. Even then I wasn't really ready.

"YIIK" is a game of tedium. I don't think it's a game about tedium, that's something different (though it could be, if it was a different video game altogether; "what if the world was made of pudding" etc). To some degree I think the tedium is by design but I'm not really sure what it's in service of.

I don't think tedium in a video game is a bad thing. "Morrowind" and "Breath of the Wild" are two video games I like very much, and some of my favourite memories of those games are of slowly wandering through empty expanses, or having to suddenly deal with equipment degrading or supplies dwindling because I forgot to prepare. Moments like that feel thoughtful! They're interesting moments of reprieve or of tension that feel thoughtfully and intentionally designed! "YIIK" feels like trudging through chest-deep molasses so it can shout "hey did you know you're stuck in my molasses right now? that's weird, why are you stuck in my molasses right now? did you notice?" directly into your ear.

You'll notice this is a pattern.

Combat is turn-based and involves completing little minigames, timing button prompts or hitting targets or some such. It's a cute idea that wears out its welcome when you start realizing how long every single one takes to resolve, especially when you have multiple party members, and sometimes multiple enemies (I'm told this part specifically gets more egregious as the game goes on). I don't think it's awful or unsalvageable but I'm not super into it as of the point we're at.

This is a pattern.

Leveling up is a manual process that you have to unlock, and it involves going to a save point (any save point? we didn't check), to enter the Mind Dungeon, to enter the actual Mind Dungeon, to walk down a set of stairs and enter individual doors one-by-one, so that you can choose how you want to allocate stat increases, so that you can walk down a different set of stairs to commit your choices and spend your banked experience to level up. I think "you can only power up at specific points / times / locations" and the granularity of stat growth are interesting ideas, and the environment they made for it are a charming idea, and I don't think it needed to be a "Hotel Mario" level that you had to slowly walk through. It could have been a menu. They could have used the resources for a nice background or backdrop for a menu that accomplishes the same thing.

This is a pattern.

I haven't really mentioned anything about the story or writing yet. The protagonist's name is Alex and he's a very self-important nerdy misanthropic dickhead white man (a very specific kind of guy that I've definitely met at least once or twice) who is obsessed with a paranormal message board populated by people like him and desperate to find out more about the disappearance of a woman he witnessed. (The woman & her disappearance are based on the real life death of Elisa Lam & aren't handled with a whole lot of tact, IMO, but other people have put this into better words than I can right now. It sucks. It keeps coming up and it makes me bristle every time.) Alex is a bad person. I know he is. You know he is. The game knows he is. I've seen some reviews say a negative point of the game is "the main characters aren't likeable", which I don't really get, because that's the point of the characters, as far as I can tell. The issue, then, is how much time the game takes to exposit at you how bad the characters are. It's exhausting. Every time Alex has a monologue, it feels like it sums up to 10 minutes of "I am a bad person. I am a bad person. Alex is a bad person. This character is a bad person. Do you get it? He's a bad person. Alex is a bad person. Do you understand yet, player? Alex is a bad person. You should know that he's a bad person. Do you get it?"

This is a pattern.

(I don't know how interested I am in bringing up the game's lead writer right now, if at all, but there's a well-known anecdote where he talks about wanting to write a story about a bad person who is forced to grapple with himself and do better, and how the reason why his game wasn't well-received was because people who play video games didn't get it & weren't ready for a story like that. I dunno. I can understand being upset about negative reception to something you poured time and sweat into, and saying something hasty because of it. "Final Fantasy 4" is a beloved RPG classic, though, and "Disco Elysium" came out the same year to overwhelming praise. I haven't played either of these yet, though, so I'll admit maybe I'm off the mark here.)

The characters we've met so far (i.e. the ones that aren't unnamed NPCs) are… well. There's a smarmy younger kid who idolizes(?) Alex & also made the aforementioned paranormal website. So far it seems like he mostly exists to go "hey fuck you Alex, you dickhead" and immediately say something even more insensitive. There's the insensitive based-on-a-real=ass-dead-woman elevator woman, who immediately disappeared from the narrative while still being an essential part of the narrative. There was a dead(?) robot in a bedroom, who had a choir of ominous hooded people monologue about how weird and sad and strange and uncanny the scene is. What the!? There's a woman who works at the arcade and has Powers. Her design's cute. (I feel like, generally, the game's visuals are Fine. The audio, too. That all ranges from Just Fine to Surprisingly Neat. I don't really have much issue with those aspects of the game, but I don't have much to say about them either.) Alex and Kid Whose Name I Didn't Care To Remember are constantly very uncomfortable to her, because she's a woman and because she isn't white, in the 15 or so minutes we've seen her on-screen, and she gets to tell them off, but then immediately kind of goes "well whatever I can smile and put up with this and hang out with you". It feels misogynistic. I know to some degree Alex is misogynistic on purpose, because the game is bludgeoning your skull in and yelling "ALEX IS SHITTY TO WOMEN! AND PEOPLE OF COLOUR! DO YOU GET IT? HE'S SELF ABSORBED IN A SHITTY WAY! DO YOU GET IT, PLAYER? YOU UNDERSTAND THAT ALEX SUCKS ASS YET? MAYBE 10 MORE MINUTES OF THIS WILL MAKE IT CLICK?" But for a woman of colour (the only one we've seen so far who isn't Probably Just Dead) to finally tell him off for being a shithead, only to turn around and go "well it's ok, you're cool now, let's hang out now because it's narratively convenient and you're the protagonist" is pretty damn egregious!

This is a pattern.

Writing in general feels stilted and long-winded. Most of the main characters feel like they don't talk like people do. Alex gets to feel like a person but that's mostly because he gets to talk to himself so damn much. Most of his monologues feel like overly flowery prose, like someone padded it out with identical adjectives to meet a school essay word count. There's an interesting idea or premise or setpiece every now and then. There's a spark. A glint of something compelling. Every single time this has happened so far I find it immediately snuffed out by an over-blown "oh my god!!!!!!! how weird!!!!!!', or a very long plot dump, or a Joss Whedon-ass quip. There can be no small moment of joy. No story element or visual element can stand on its own legs. There can be no room for ideas to breathe. No space for the player to wonder, to dream, to play in the space. The narrative is compelled to suffocate iself on itself, to take up all space, to swallow itself whole in its making. One very minor (so far?) side character has some interesting dialogue in this one dream world, and I think "oh that's neat", and then I learn they're lines taken wholesale from a book (and I think that's fine, reference is fine, but I have a bit of a chuckle over the fact that this character is the reason why the game has a giant REFERENCES option in the main menu). The literal first minute of the game is a bird telling you "oh my god, the title of this game, right? why'd they spell it like that? so fucking dumb, am I right!" It feels insecure. It reads like the writing has no confidence in itself. It has to make a comment about how silly and video-gamey it is, roll its eyes at itself, mock itself for the thing it's doing while continuing to do it without addressing it or discussing it or doing anything with it.

This is a pattern.

There's a specific part of "YIIK", at this early point in the game (we're only around the start[?] of chapter 2), that feels emblematic of the thing as a whole up to this point. Alex is getting phone calls from a stranger. They're confusing and weird and sound a little like something you might hear in a dream. They make references to some shared past, some childhood, some understanding of Alex, or maybe of you, the player. They've come up a few times. Every single time, I'm left thinking about what it could mean, how it fits in with everything we've seen so far & what the game seems to be talking about, with regards to connecting to other people and to yourself. It's a neat little thing. It's a neat idea. I'm charmed by it. As much as my thoughts on this game are largely negative, I still try to look at it fairly, to understand it, to talk about it, to let myself be surprised by it. As soon as I find myself thinking about this, my thoughts are immediately drowned out by Alex telling me how weird the phone call is, how random and uncanny and dumb this is, and how he's rolling his proverbial eyes about it, in spite of all the other paranormal happenings around him, for another period of Just Too Long. And I am sapped of all strength and I crumble to dust.

I'm genuinely transfixed. I'm transfixed! Maybe the fact that I wrote Paragraphs about the 4-or-5 hours I've seen of the game can tell you as much, even if you skip everything I wrote in them.

I can't wait to see more.

This, too, is a pattern.

[s0ckh3adstudios]

howdy!! for the undertale gold au, i was wondering if we could see more of dalv? (or starlo, dalv and rover!! like the family portrait)

if not thats ok :) i just wanna see more of how these sillies work in the au

TA-DA!! Finally, after days... UTG Dalv! I Am So Sorry.

Disclaimer Corn Yaoi IS canon in this AU and for those who don't like it. I am sorry HEHEKGHLF It's too late for me to go back and I thought it'd be funny to include it. Too embedded in the lore now

You find out Dalv's backstory not through recorded tapes, but through his diary! You know, how he has one in the Ruins? In turn, Chujin still records tapes.

I actually wrote Dalv's diary entries and will be leaving them under the cut so you can all get your dose of exposition, but I'll give a summary of it below the Diary Entries if you want a TLDR!

Also, I apologize if the writing isn't very good- I tried my best to keep Dalv's character and write out what happened, but I'd probably edit a couple details if I wasn't lazy LMAO

====

SUMMARY:

Dalv and Starlo own a large farming area together where they grow crops for monsters to buy. They were given an opportunity to expand the farm, and their business by association, to the Snowdin area. Starlo was unable to meet with the people in Snowdin about it, so Dalv had to go. He was a bit nervous to do so, Chujin offered to join him! As long as he got to test out his latest project; Axis, a funny little robot. Rover, Dalv and Starlo's kid, also joined them! They wanted to visit Snowdin and play with Chujin's robot. Dalv and Chujin left Axis to watch and play with Rover while they had their meeting. But this is when danger struck. During the meeting, a human came through Snowdin and attacked Rover, even taking their hat. Despite Axis already chasing after the human and Chujin giving Dalv warnings, Dalv ran after the human as well to find his kid's hat.

Dalv did find the human... who was very injured after seemingly having had a run-in with Axis who was oddly nowhere to be found in that moment. When Dalv encountered in the human... something shifted in him. This human hurt his child, they could have taken them away... Seeing them... He felt angry. Without thinking, for reasons he can't really explain, he attacked the human and finished them off for good. In a panic, mortified at what he suddenly did, he stole the soul. He didn't want to admit it, even if this was what monsters were meant to do to humans. The soul was declared missing and Chujin was blamed; there was concern over how much damage Axis caused and the fact that he seemingly killed the human so brutally that he also destroyed the soul which they NEEDED.

Dalv decided he was going to try and use the soul for good and try to infuse its power into his crops! He thought if monsters ate them, they'd gain enough power to last against humans AND possibly bypass the barrier. He couldn't do this alone... So he ended up coming clean to Chujin about what happened. Chujin was VERY mad but figured if he helped, he could maybe get his job back. The two worked on the project and when sprouting their first soul infused crop, a cob of corn, Dalv offered to test it.

....It made him very sick.

When Dalv fell down, he had left a message to Starlo in his diary, telling him to read it after he died. He told Starlo to return the soul and shut down the project entirely. The farms are already in danger just for supposedly having some sort of illness in the crops that Dalv seemingly ate (a lie). But Starlo...... didn't listen. He felt bad that it didn't work out for Dalv and felt bad that he felt horrible about it. He wanted to do it for him. Carry on his legacy. Cling to what left he had of Dalv and what he was working on.

....But it was never meant to be.

[emmafrostdefender]

a fine line between god and animal | logan howlett x fem reader

prologue - that which cannot be held in your hand | masterlist

your mother was a god-fearing woman. but she feared you much more. some part of you was wrong, at least in the eyes of god, but you answered to something much bigger. and so did he.

hi friends, this was written when i was struck with inspiration by the one and only ethel cain. of course, the inspiration was paired with my recent renewed interest in wolverine and x-men. some of the characters are more like how they are in the comics because the movie writers did them dirty! like jean slays in the comics okay! anyways, i wanted to write about wolverine and it be sexy in an ethel cain way. do we get the vibe? i hope so. also, i, in fact, do not have religious trauma but if you do this might be the story for you. enjoy.

warnings: cursing, religion, religious trauma (will pick up), lowkey a lot of blasphemy, people be bad sometimes, reader's mother was not chill, a ton of exposition (sorry!), i’m writing this mainly for practice (especially regarding dialogue, so that’s why some of it might be kinda choppy), definitely won't be canon compliant, 4k words

━━━━━━━━━━☆━━━━━━━━━━

By the grace of some unholy god were you created.

The priest with silver hair expelled the demons from you; those crawling, crushing, wriggling, squirming demons that lived within you. Those demons that whispered in your ears, caressing your skull with a language lost to time. They pushed to be revealed. Today, your mother shoved you to your knees before the altar of your true Mother, the Mother of all. “Holy Mother, bless this rotten soul,” she whispered by your side, eyes clenched shut. You watched her. There were no tears, not for your lost soul. Your rotten soul. As if your morality was like an apple. Something that could shrivel up and die if left too long in the scorching sun.

Your skin crawled under the light that beat down on you through the skylights of the church. The air was thick with incense and smoke from the ever-burning candles. The stench filled your nose. Your mother grasped your hand in hers, forcing you to focus on her words. She spoke so quietly, so quickly, you’d think she was chanting some spell. Something to save you from your fate.

“Heavenly Father, take the Devil’s spirit from her body; take this ugly, horrid wickedness from her.”

You closed your eyes, not in prayer, but to lend your ears elsewhere. To the birds chirping outside. The wind whistling through the trees. 

You were connected to nature. In some primal, peaceful way.

Before your father died, he would take you into the woods and you would wander together. Sometimes you would pack supplies for overnight trips, sometimes you would bring nothing but your spirit with you. Now, you thought he knew that something was different about you before you did. When you were a stumbling child, he knew. There were days he would force you to lead the both of you back to safety after getting you lost in the middle of the woods. Force you to reveal yourself to him. The part of you that God shunned.

And you did.

Your spirit became one with the natural world around you. You could hear and smell and see. For what felt like the first time. It was a beautiful thing that came over you.

The trees spoke to you, in their ancient language lost to humanity. And you spoke back. Using sounds that had never before emerged from your lips. 

And they led you home.

Never once did your father ostracize you for your gift. That’s what he called it. A gift.

When you turned sixteen, your gift shifted. You fought back as it reared its ugly head at you. It pushed and pulled at your insides, begging to be released fully. The day your father died, lying still in a sterile hospital bed, it burst out of you. The monotonous tone that rang out death filled your ears as you lay beside him on the thin sheets. He wasn’t supposed to die like this. Not here. The thought blared in your brain. He should’ve been somewhere he could see the sky, the trees, the clouds, not the plastered ceiling of a hospital room.

In your memory, nothing changed. But your mother, eyes blurry with tears, watched as something inside you morphed. You became still, grasping your father’s hand, and whispered something that sounded to her like sin. The tongue of some animal, some demon. She watched as her daughter became something unholy. Your eyes went pitch black, your skin glowing with a soft light. And suddenly, vines were creeping into the room from all around.

Through the window, the door, from the cracks in the ceiling. Crawling to the thrumming in your veins. The winds answered your call, blasting open the window, broken glass scattering across the linoleum floor. Your mother screamed at the sound. 

As vines wrapped around your ankles, around your father’s bed, your mother watched as you continued your senseless muttering. She couldn’t move to stop you. She began to chant a prayer of protection. For herself, for her husband’s lifeless body, for your soul. 

Anger filled your spirit, the anger of a thousand year old mother. Tar filled your veins, smoke filled your lungs, oil in your eyes. The drilling, the pounding, the burning, the slaughtering. It all pushed into your brain as the vines choked your soul. And you screamed.

Your mother grabbed the metal tray from your father’s final meal and slammed it against your head.

And she continued to pray. Gripping your hand until it hurt. And you let her. Let her expel the demon from you. 

Your bare skin bathes in the moonlight shining through the early autumn foliage as you sit on your knees before a different altar. 

You cringe at the memory of your bruised knees and that crushing hold on your hand. Begging God to turn you into a flower, while your mother begged for your mortal soul.

You shake your head to clear the memory. That was ten years ago now. Seventeen and terrified of who you were, what you were. She was wrong about you and you were wrong about you. 

The day the priest came to perform another exorcism of sorts, something that had no effect on you whatsoever, a new man had entered your bedroom. A man in a wheelchair. Professor Charles Xavier. He saved you. 

Made your mother forget who you were.

And you came to live on a beautiful estate in upstate New York with people like you. Mutants. A word used in such a way you had never heard before in extremely rural Oklahoma. “What do you mean, mutant?” You asked, not sure if you should feel insulted.

Professor X looked at you from across the plasticky diner table, studying your features. You studied his right back. Soft eyes and a kind smile. Such a stark contrast from your mother’s severe gaze and thin-lipped grimace. “Mutants are like regular people, only with a mutated gene that gives them special abilities. I’ve been studying mutants and their mutations for decades. Each mutant I meet is unique and you are no exception.”

Your eyebrow raised ever-so-slightly as you sipped on a strawberry milkshake. “How many are there?”

And so began your relationship with Charles Xavier. He became your mentor, someone to go to for guidance. He assisted you in harnessing your abilities, treating them like a muscle to train rather than a burden to bear. And yet, every night you prayed to God that you could be rid of it. That you could go back home and live a normal life. 

In your years at the mansion, friendships blossomed all around you. You never made friends easily back home, but here they came quickly and firmly.

And you felt complete. You are complete. You remind yourself.

Something deep inside of you grumbles in response.

You ignore it and stretch your arms to the sky, cupping the moon in your hands. The moon is slightly out of your jurisdiction, but she controls the tide, which controls the winds. It all works in harmony, you’ve learned. When another girl with similar mutant abilities arrived at the mansion a few years after yourself, you became close partners. Storm, Ororo by birth, was your closest companion. She had striking white hair and a piercing gaze and a personality to match. In combat, she is your most trusted partner. 

You spin your arms in a practiced circle, beginning to feel the thrumming of power in your veins. Every full moon, Charles would send you out into the woods of the estate to become one with your abilities. He says the most dangerous mutant is a mutant that severs all connection to their powers. One that has no real idea what they are capable of. “They could destroy a whole city and not understand why,” he replied when you first asked him the meaning of these exercises. “You must be in tune with yourself if you ever want to feel some semblance of control.”

Control. The word forced a shiver down your spine. Mother Nature revolts at it.

And yet, you managed to tame the primal part of yourself. The part that screamed to be let loose. 

The world pulses around you as your eyes flutter shut. This is your favorite part of the night. When you merge with the natural world. When you feel and hear and see everything around you. The flapping of an owl’s wings. The beat of a young doe’s heart. The smell of the moss and the dirt and the stream miles away. You feel another heartbeat. This one is firmer. More distinct. It reminds you of the steady thumping of your father’s heart when you would lay on his chest as a small child. You can’t pinpoint its location. It seems to come from everywhere at once. A sense of serenity washes over you. 

And you simply listen.

You spread your fingers on the plush grass below you, feeling that heartbeat skitter along your skin and wash itself in the blood that pulses through your veins. You hear the sound of drifting snow, feel its cold sting before it melts against warm skin. Your eyes scrunch up as you focus. The thought of even wondering what you’re tuning into never crosses your mind. You just want to keep feeling and hearing. Your gluttony for the senses takes over and you taste the sheen of melted snow on this stranger’s skin as if you licked it yourself. Salt and something man. You hum. And then you smell something so distinctly like smoke that you are thrown from your reverie. Your body repulses against itself and you cough. Being connected to Earth has its disadvantages. 

Desire to return to that state of complete contentment fills your mind, but you stand. Your nude form basks in the moonlight for not a minute longer. You shrug a pretty little silk robe on and make your way back to the mansion. Although it is early October and New York has not yet succumbed to the winter weather, you still feel the keen chill of snow. 

As you slowly walk back to the mansion, the new thrum of energy courses through you. It spreads down your legs to the pads of your feet, which leave trails of newborn flowers. As quickly as they are born, they die. The circle of life and death. Darkness and light.

The exact breadth of your powers is still unknown to you and your fellow mutants. Before being taken in by Professor X, you thought they were limited to simply being one with nature. The memory of your father’s death and the events that quickly followed were hazy, but being far away from your mother and her religious zeal allowed you to connect to that piece of your past. To your chagrin, Charles refused to go into your mind to help you remember. It took you two months to fully remember the events. Memories came in dreams, waves of disconnected images all straining in your mind. The first night Charles sent you into the woods to “figure it out,” the pieces fell into place.

And you finally knew yourself again.

Now, you’ve chalked your abilities up to being a reincarnation of Mother Nature, a realization that pulls at the small cross that rests in the hollow of your neck. Despite the trauma incurred by your mother in the name of the righteous God, that part of yourself hasn’t been severed. You remember your father knelt in the church, clasping the chain around your neck, thereby forever bonding you to your faith. You’ve never feared any man you’ve gone against in combat, but you fear the one waiting to judge you.

If He’d even bestow that luxury upon you.

You look up at the sky as you step through the woods, drawing lines between the stars like the ancients. Stringing stories and myths and legends. You wonder if the monsters of olde were simply mutants, like you. Misunderstood and begging to be believed.

The soft glow of the mansion enters your vision. The weight of sleep hits you in the shoulders and you slouch to the back entrance. All the young mutants are asleep at this time, but you hear the skittering of a few rebels in the halls. The mansion never fails to awe you, with its tall wooden walls and bright windows. A far cry from your small rancher of a childhood home. You pass the main entrance and make your way up the stairs that lead to your bedroom on the third floor. This floor is for the older mutants, the X-Men.

Originally, you declined Charles’ offer to be a part of the mutant bad-guy-fighting team. A lack of confidence in yourself, you realized later on. The belief that something was still too wrong with you to even have the ability to help anyone. That belief changed rather quickly. 

When you realized there wasn’t much of a place for mutants in this world, you accepted his offer. You took on the name Proserpina, the Roman goddess of spring, at the behest of your teammates. Despite your initial disdain towards the alias, you soon grew fond of the name.

Your ears perk up at the sound of whispering voices down the hall.

Coming from Jean’s room.

Jean Grey is another member of the X-Men and another close friend of yours. You were one of the first people she met when she arrived at the mansion a few years ago. You were the first to confront her about her obvious feelings for Scott Summers, who is something of a brother to you, before she even recognized them herself. You are the first person she goes to whenever she feels out of control, which seems to be more frequently as of late. “He wants you and Storm to track them down,” she says in a soft voice.

“Just the two of us?” Scott asks.

You assume she nods.

You raise your eyebrow. Track who down?

Deciding to enter the conversation, you continue to her room and open the cracked door fully. “What, so Charles doesn’t want me tracking anymore?” You question with a hand on your hip.

They both stand in the center of the room and turn their heads to look at you. Jean rubs at the space between her eyebrows. “Not necessarily. He just isn’t sure you should go on this one.”

“Why? Is it because we’d be fighting Captain Capitalism or something?”

Scott quirks a smile. “He’s found another prospect for the X-Men.”

“And how does that impact my ability to find them?”

Jean approaches you slowly. “Don’t be offended, honey, but sometimes you come off a bit…”

“Bitchy,” Scott finishes with his arms folded across his chest. 

Your mouth drops open and you move to slap him or punch him or kick him, but Jean puts her hand on your sternum. “I meant to say, you can come off a bit guarded. And that isn’t always helpful with new recruits.”

“But no one is better at tracking than me,” you say with a pout. “Besides the obvious.”

“Sorry, babe, Charles isn't letting you come on this one,” Scott says with a grin. “Too bad.”

You flick him in the forehead and he flinches. “Asshole.”

“You can stay here and help me with my exercises. Charles is trying to get me to move a car,” Jean suggests. “I know,” she says in response to your eyebrow raise. 

“You can barely move a book without it flying at your face. Or, in most cases, my face.”

She shrugs. “Out of the frying pan and into the fryer, I guess.”

“Fine. I’ll be nice.” You turn to leave and toss a dismissive hand up behind you at Scott. “Good luck tracking without me, bitch.”

He hums. “Goodnight.”

As you shut the door he throws out, “Can’t wait to bring them back in record time tomorrow!”

Them. So it’s multiple. Interesting.

That night, your dreams are filled with images of your old church. The windows stain everything around you a blood red. 

You are on your knees before the altar of Mary. But today, her hands are folded away from you. She scorns you with a downwards glance of repulsion. You know this isn’t real. It’s not real.

Yet, your body burns in her gaze. Your skin is on fire and no one is there to quell it. You are chained to the floor by your hands, you feel your chest being cracked open to onlookers. Your heart is yanked from your ribs, your impure blood oozing from gray hands. Roaming hands belonging to a wisp of smoke pull at your bones, branding them in silver. Bugs crawl out of the cavity in your chest, maggots and cockroaches. You scream and the onlookers laugh. Your body vibrates with fear and disgust. And you scream. 

You wake with hands pinned to the bed by your own force, your necklace set between your teeth. 

Your nightgown is soaked in sweat, sticking to your skin. Your heartbeat pumps hard and fast in your ears, an almost unbearable sensation. Not the way you hoped the night would go.

Despite appearances, you are used to the nightmares that plague you whenever there is a full moon. With the resurgence of your power, comes a resurgence of memories. 

You spit the cross out of your mouth and slam your head against your pillow. 

Dawn has skipped across the sky, bringing streaks of hazy light into the darkness. You stare at the ceiling, allowing your heart to return to its usual rate.

It seems like the dreams are only getting worse with time. You thought they would subdue after a few years, but they’ve been building steadily. And you would never tell Charles that, lest he pry into your brain and see for himself. You couldn’t let him, or anyone, see that part of you. The part you worked so hard to tamp down. It would only make things harder.

Therapy for one?

You laugh in self-pity and sit up, your muscles tense. You stretch out your arms, moving them in circular motions as you control your breathing. The last thing the team needs is something else to worry about. Magneto, your main opposition, has been pushing harder and harder toward his goal of world-domination and mutant-superiority. Charles doesn’t need another burden. You crack your neck and stand. 

Your room has floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the gardens and the woods. A special request you made the first time you moved in. You can just barely see the sun beginning to peak over the horizon, glimmering off the dewy leaves. 

Someone knocks on your door. “Yes?” you ask, turning to face the entrant.

The only other person ever up this early is Storm. She stands before you in her leather suit, stark white hair hanging by her shoulders. “Put some clothes on, Charles wants to speak with you.”

“You don’t think he’d appreciate this?” You gesture to your sweat-stained dress.

“Bad dream?”

You shrug. “I was actually having very passionate sex with Christian Bale.”

“Slut!” She smiles, but her eyes see right through your lie.

You wink. “Always.”

Ororo is the only person you’ve let see the terrified side of you. The side that you keep locked away. And it makes your skin crawl when she sees straight through you. As if she’s the one that can read minds.

When you’ve changed into a sweater and jeans, you follow Ororo downstairs to the professor’s study. The sun has fully risen by now, along with many of the students. You dodge sleepy children and annoyed teenagers as you make your way to the study. 

“I’ll wait out here for you,” Ororo says softly as you open the study door. 

“I feel like I’m about to be scolded for something.”

She laughs.

You shut the door behind you and see Charles sitting at his desk. “Good morning, Professor.”

“Take a seat.”

You grin as you make your way to the plush seats in front of his desk. “Am I in trouble?”

He smiles back. “No, you’re not in trouble. But I did need to speak with you.”

You nod, allowing him to continue.

“I understand that you already know about the retrieval mission Scott and Ororo are to be sent on today?”

“Yes, I overheard Jean mention it to Scott last night.”

He hums. “How was your night besides?”

He’s referring to your monthly ritual. You smile. “It went well.”

“Anything interesting occur?” he asks with a quirk of his brow.

You narrow your eyes slightly. Is he asking about the dreams? You pivot. “Not really. I seemed to connect to someone far away, though. That hasn’t really happened before.”

He nods, a glint in his eye. He knows you’re omitting something. But he lets you get away with it by switching the topic. “I suppose you might be wondering why I’m not sending you on this particular retrieval?”

You shrug, trying to be as nonchalant as possible. “I mean, it crossed my mind. But it’s your decision.”

“I’m not sending you not because you aren’t useful, you must understand. Or because of you’re 'attitude,' which I must admit, I disagree with. You are truly the best tracker we have. And you are fairly good at calming new people down. However, I have recently been made aware of a plot by Lehnsherr to somehow use you to further his plans,” he says with a straight look on his face.

Before you register the second part of his statement, you feel smug pride at the fact that you were right and Scott was wrong. “Wait, he wants me?”

Charles nods. “Yes, it seems he believes your mutation would be useful to him. But I am not aware of how exactly.”

“How were you able to read his mind?”

“We were both at a speech given by Senator Robert Kelly a few days ago. I found his mind in my scan of the room. His is much different from everyone else.”

The unspoken part: We are connected.

The professor never seems to fully admit the strong connection he has to Erik Lehnsherr, but you sensed it the same way you sensed Jean and Scott. It might be different, it might be the same, but the history they share has never fully dissolved.

You wonder if a part of your mutation is sensing innate connections between people. That invisible force that pulls some together, while pulling others apart. That which cannot be held in your hand. You suppose it is something only nature could define.

He continues. “He believes that your connection to nature could be used in conjunction with his control over metal. How? I’m not sure. I’m not sure even he knows.”

You consider this, bringing your hands together. “So you’re nervous I wouldn’t be able to hold my own against his goons?”

“Not necessarily. But if you were abducted, we might not be able to reach you. It’s safer if you stay here with all the protections this mansion affords.”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes. “Are you sure that’s the only reason?”

“It’s the only reason I need.” He looks at you with such care that your annoyance pauses. “If not sending you on a monotonous tracking mission means keeping you from uneccessary harm, then I will do it. Even if it upsets you.”

You break his gaze and sigh. “Fine. I’ll stay.”

He leans back in his chair and smiles.

“I just hate seeing Scott’s ‘I-did-better-than-you’ face. He’s so smug,” you whine.

“You two have that in common, I see.”

The grin that spreads across your lips is impossible to fight.

Scott and Ororo board the jet after an hour of briefing from the professor about where the mutants are most likely located. Somewhere in Canada. Far, far north.

Before they head off, Scott ruffles your hair. “Hey, don’t look so disappointed. You can stay here and grow some flowers or something.”

You shove his hand away from you. “Shut up.”

“Save that fire for when we get back. You never know what these mutants are going to be like. They could be gearing up for a fight.”

“I think I’ll just let you handle that, since you’re so confident you’ll even be able to find them properly without me.”

“It’s not just confidence. It’s a guarantee,” he says with a grin.

“Whatever. Be safe.”

“Always am. Keep Jean company.” 

“Mhm. ‘Bye now!” You say with a wave of your hand.

Jean exits the jet where she was speaking to Ororo and comes to stand next to you. Ororo gives you a thumbs up and she and Scott exit your line of sight. Although you would never admit it, you like going on these missions to keep your teammates safe. And not being able to protect them itches at your skin. Before you go crazy pacing in the hangar of the jet after it takes off, just waiting for them to get back, Jean reminds you of her own practice.

“Time to move that car!” You say with gusto, hooking your arm with hers. 

You fight the urge to glance behind you. Your other hand comes up to worry the cross at your neck. They’ll be fine. 

ugh i know i know she didn't meet him this chapter aw man....

[thedeathdoctor]

Won’t Let You Get Away (1/?)

Pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x GN! Reader

Summary: Ghost falls hard for one of 141′s new recruits

Warnings: there’s no smut in this one it’s just fluff and exposition

A/N: Just sat down and wrote this because i need to get back into writing again. Gonna be a possessive Ghost x reader fic hopefully because that’s like crack to me rn. Will probably get pretty dark & into some trauma in later chapters so heads up now if you aren’t into that. May or not edit this later for coherency but I am not doing it now. :)

From the day Ghost first met you, he knew you were going to be his undoing. Happy, bright eyes looked directly at his own, unafraid to see the person underneath the skull mask and fearsome reputation. Ghost no longer kept up with the mythology surrounding himself as doing so would take entirely too much time away from him, time that he preferred to spend training instead. Even after working with him for some time, most soldiers still preferred to train their eyes to the bottom of his mask, unable to fully meet the cold gaze of their Lieutenant.

You had to have heard the stories. There was no way that you’d make it all the way to 141 without being told at least one about its shadowy Lt. Sometimes, during R&R at base, Ghost could hear some of the grunts whisper incredulously about him and still, when he turned to face them, hardly anyone would allow themselves to be caught staring at him.

Given the way that most tended to leave him alone as if he were an apex predator, your kindness surprised him. A high level of respect accompanied the title of Lieutenant, and you managed to inject a sense of warmth into your conversations with him. While he was used to being feared, he felt genuine admiration from you, something that he hardly received from anyone else in 141.

You had asked him to help you train, and your willingness to admit your own weaknesses impressed him. You were an excellent sharpshooter, but when the enemy was up close, you struggled at hand to hand combat. It especially didn’t help that you simply weren’t as big as many other soldiers. As huge as your spirit felt in your body, it just didn’t have the mass that you felt you had. So, in order to improve, you asked the largest guy in 141 to practice with you, the Lieutenant.

The two of you trained hard, sometimes at odd hours, but you wanted to feel competent in any situation. Defending yourself, even in the depths of fatigue was worth being awoken at 2 or 3 am for impromptu training. Despite feeling groggy and discombobulated, you put all the effort you could give into all of your sparring sessions. Slipping out of holds became easier, and you learned that with the right timing, you could use his mass to your own advantage in a fight. Even when you failed and ended up with a face full of dirt, you got up and brushed yourself off, sometimes even cracking a joke before trying to analyze where you could’ve done better.

He couldn’t help but grow fond of you, and this scared him deeply.

[takes1]

p.3 himbo!kirishima x petite!reader (gymbros series: rest day)

featuring aged up!kiri with growth spurt and long hair. i've actually had this in the drafts for a couple years, it's just that i didn't write an exposition and got straight to the point lmao. next part is on the way

warnings. nsfw, nearly f! oral, grinding, biting, mentions of mathematics

details. nsfw / gymbros with benefits/ aged up!kiri / fem!reader / mentions of f! masturbation / almost facesitting / mutual size kink / shy reader / support course student!reader / scars thirst / sharp teeth thirst / bakugou doesn't knock / 4.5k words

🤍 scenario series. part one / part two / kiri headcanons

more links. my ao3

The next few workouts grew increasingly more distracting and less efficient. Kirishima made it a point to talk more, get closer to you when not always necessary, and encourage you in ways he wouldn't use with other people who came to join.

You had moved to working out with varying amounts of Hero Course students that he introduced as his friends, too, all eager to meet you, in the Hero-specific gym.

This night wasn't the first time you visited his dorm room. The first was about five days prior when he invited you up to take a shower in his room.

Nothing 'happened,' but the whole experience was enough to fuel your fantasies for a few nights and make it evident that he wanted you, very badly and under any tangible excuse, in his bedroom.

It was Thursday night, and you had next to nothing else to do, so when he called, you picked up after a few rings and a deep breath.

(Y/n)!

He sounded so happy to say your name.

"Eijiro!" You smiled, not quite as excitable, but you did your best.

You busy tonight?

He laughed just off of the microphone, and you heard some other voices. He told one of them to shush, and another to go away. Your brow furrowed. It was one thing if he wanted you to come over, but another if you were hanging out with his friends.

Hello?

"Depends," You trailed, fingers fidgeting with your pajamas.

Iiiii was just wonderin' if you'd come hang for a while. No workout or anything.

His voice was a little sing-songy. It was extremely cute. While you were trying to rub the smile off of your face, he continued.

Just us.

"Yea-h," You answered, breathless.

It took a while to get ready to your liking after he let you off the phone. Thankfully, you showered earlier, so in the time it took to get dressed and out the door, he called again to ask if he needed to come get you.

You told him that wouldn't be necessary, as flattering as it was, and it took another minute to get him to hang up.

The Support Course housing wasn't too far away from his, you knew the way, and it was certainly not a dangerous walk, but when you turned the only corner of the walk, a familiar heavy-footed redhead was there to take you the remainder of the way.

"I should've walked with you the whole way!" He insisted when you told him his chivalry was appreciated, but not needed.

Surely he had safety as a primary concern. His Hero-centered brain was certain something might happen on the ten-minute walk over.

It was an animated walk to the dorms with this chatterbox next to you, but nothing compared to the chaos inside. Most students were gathered in the common area, loud and boisterous, all confirming your anxieties.

Kirishima picked up on this and kept a hand on your shoulder as you both passed, mostly unnoticed, through the busiest area near the entryway.

When the door closed, and the moment of relief was gone, you were a bit unsure of yourself. His company in public, or the gym, was one thing, but completely alone, behind a door?

You texted a friend where you were just in case.

But upon further inspection, he had prepared a silly movie and some snacks for you. His beanbag was what you were most excited about, but you kept it cool and only sat down at the soonest opportunity it could look natural. He took a seat on a small mat next to it and leaned on the bag. He was too big to share it with you but still wanted to be close.

The movie was menial compared to how much you both talked through it.

You got on the topic of perception and types, attractiveness, and the like. He had a difficult time understanding how you found him pretty and manly.

"What?" He laughed; he'd never been called that before. He liked it, but prompted you to explain.

He twisted his body to meet yours, already close on the floor right next to you.

"Well, you know-- you know," You tried to express, hand darting back to your side after leaving its resting place on his massive shoulder.

It was so much harder to compliment him when he wouldn't just take it. You sunk lower into the beanbag.

Part of him knew, you could hear it in the clip at the end of his sentences, a subtle request for you to keep making a fool of yourself.

"I don't think I do," He nabbed one of your wrists, his smile spreading when he found a similar one on your face and placed it back on his shoulder.

His eyes were eating you up, the inside of his own cheek offered as tribute in order to satiate his nerves.

"Well," You pushed a curious thumb into his ample flesh and tried to control a quick sigh, "You're... attractive."

"Attractive?" Kirishima repeated, amused and intrigued by your slow admission.

Quicker, a little panicked, you tried to rationalize it out loud, "Yeah, my friends think you are-- you're conventionally attractive, like it's not a secret or anything, everyone thinks you're hot."

An unsure hand slid, pressing here and there, over his squishy, thick bicep. You could barely fit your fingers all the way around it. There were an array of stretch marks, dark to light, all over his arms, chest, and on his tummy.

Maybe mentioning your friends was a wrong move, because now it sounded like you had gushed about him and showed pictures of him-- something you totally did do, but he didn't need to know that.

In your quick explanation, you couldn't keep quiet because you didn't want to hear his reply yet, so you just kept going, "A tall guy with huge muscles, and-- a big smile, with good hugs, who's really sweet, and considerate, and is open-minded and asks questions. I mean, who wouldn't like you?"

You had to suck in a breath, and in doing so, realized everything you said just as he did.

"Well, you make a pretty solid case," He laughed. He was blushing-- blushing, and had to look away from you.

This wasn't your first rodeo with a big guy, but it was certainly the most exciting. There was something about his soft, silly demeanor that held a chokehold on your heart.

He stood up and offered a hand to take you with him. But he pulled a tad too hard and you stumbled against him. He smiled, bashful still.

"What-uh, what else do you like?"

Your head was spinning. Maybe he wasn't so confident? Was that it? You were usually the one to break eye contact, but your clumsy, stupid words seemed to unlock the key to a shy side.

"U-hm," Eyes and fingers flitted up to his chest, then his broad shoulders, "I like... how strong you are."

Big hands squeezed around your waist, setting off a flurry of butterflies, and kept you plastered across his front, instead of your attempted distance.

"'Shouldn't tell me that," He muttered, fingers locked around each other on the curve of your spine.

You wanted to feel everything while you could-- you directed your touch to the back of his neck, and reached up as far as you could go with a face of focused concentration. Your voice was quiet, far away.

"Why not? It's true."

The grip pulling on you shifted and in seconds, he muscled you up by the ass to sit on his hips-- your thighs squeezed him but didn't need to when his grip was forcing you so hard against his cock.

He made a toothy grin at your shifting around, frantic grabbing, and looking down at the distant floor, "Gotta stay humble, man."

"Shut up," You couldn't look at his blacked-out pupils, so you opted for his mouth instead.

There were little scars all over his bottom lip, and when you started to glance around his handsome face, you realized there were many more.

You adjusted your hands around the back of his neck and, in the process of studying him, found a bigger one.

"Your eye," You took a thumb to his brow, concerned despite his small chuckle.

He closed his eyes to let you check out the shape, and you noticed he had a crooked nose. It looked like he'd broken it a few times, actually.

"That's from forever ago-- just my own shitty Quirk--,"

"Your Quirk isn't shitty." You stated, surprised a Hero Course student would bash on their own Quirk so casually.

His Quirk was, honestly, pretty cool. You wished you could do half of the things he could, and you were sure countless other students in his class felt the same way.

You rolled your hips up to lock your legs, "I like your Quirk."

He was so hot and firm, it was distracting-- you immediately needed to know if it would fit. A breathy laugh pushed past his lips and he looked down, away from you, with an identical thought.

Your lips were barely an inch apart when he looked back up, conflicted and bothered in many ways.

"I really like when you do that," He muttered, focused entirely on your glossy bottom lip.

You did a lot of things but boiled it down to either the grinding or the compliment.

"I...really like you, too--"

For some reason, his trailing off sounded like he was about to say 'but,' which didn't make any sense. You started to frown. You thought all the feelings were pretty uncomplicated, here.

"--But I wanted to take you to dinner, first."

A smile that was so big it hurt stretched across your face. That was the cutest, hottest thing you ever heard.

Your palm flattened against the side of his head and he followed your gentle lead, like a puppy on a leash, just happy to be there. Happy to please.

You considered it, only because he looked genuinely apologetic.

But he adjusted you a little on his hips, and his fingers were edging onto your bare skin, and you lost your train of thought.

"We can worry about dinner tomorrow,"  A mumbled solution was quickly swallowed by his hungry mouth-- you quickly learned that he was a messy kisser, but didn't have the energy to care.

Strawberry lipgloss smeared to oblivion, he left you breathless and pained when he pulled away to sit down and enjoy your flawless neck.

His lengthy time there, hands clawing the plush of your ass, forced you to sit still and pretty on top of his confined cock.

You pushed your forehead onto his oversized shoulder, panting already at the restraint and realization that you'd have to go out in public with huge splotches of purple and green all over your neck.

He sunk his teeth into you and closed his jaw, leaving deep, puffy lines in your skin-- you squirmed away with a shaky sound, but were only met with a forearm barring you in by the lower back.

"If you don't like it rough, you can always tell me to stop," He reminded you, playful and a little condescending.

If he was going to be filthy, you wanted to return the energy.

"Mm-mm," While he was more maneuverable, you took the opportunity to press another deep, needy kiss on his big, scarred lips, "Put those teeth to good use."

Kirishima almost shied away from your sugar-sweet tone, your sudden confidence in the face of words that he had to craft very carefully. His saving grace was your subtle confirmation.

"I knew you had a thing for my teeth," He stole a few more giggly kisses and was sure to carefully take your bottom lip.

It was technically a lie-- he didn't come up with that theory on his own. Sero had to bring it up with him after he noticed your fixation.

"I've got a thing for you," You admitted.

Your hands explored his broad back, trying to fight your squirming as he switched sides and started high on the other side of your neck. His excited chuckles buzzing against your heated skin were not making it easy.

His long hair kept getting in your face. Instead of blowing the locks away, you tracked your fingers up through the back and tugged it away, but it elicited an almost automatic motion in his hips, up into you.

You laughed at his failed grab up at your fist and, with the same mocking tone he used with you, chirped, "If you don't like it rough..."

"God, you're funny too--," Kirishima sighed and pulled your shirt over your head before you could object.

"Oh."

He must not have realized your common choice to go braless beforehand, because your blank torso left a funny, flushed look on his face.

It was hard to tell, though, and your immediate understanding of his surprise demanded an apology and crossed arms with an uncomfortable chuckle, "Sorry-- I think you've got me beat in cup size."

"No-nono, they're great, fantastic, amazing," He pulled on your arms and explained so quick you had to read his lips to understand him, "I didn't mean to- I'm just-- happy I don't have to struggle with a clip."

You had to wonder how many girls he'd been with, what his expectations were, because he clearly had some experience.

As he hoisted you up, light as a feather to him, to put you on your back, you wondered if he was good. If he'd be patient with the best and worst parts.

The mattress groaned beneath his weight as he wasted no time to shift over your pretty, raised chest. When he put a fraction of his body on you, you almost gave the same reaction.

His lips and tongue on your sensitive bud almost convinced you to not ask, but your body was screaming for him to get off.

"How much do you weigh?"

You raked your fingernails through his scalp with a labored inhale and felt him smile.

"290[131 kg], around there." He kissed the bitemark he left on your breastbone and switched sides.

Half of the time, you couldn't fathom how massive he was in comparison to you, so you didn't try. But now, with practically nothing else to do than compare, it was mindblowing.

If he wasn't careful, he might risk seriously injuring you. Rough, for his size and strength, might actually be dangerous. You cringed at how unsexy it sounded to suffer a torn muscle or a broken bone because you didn't know each other's limits.

"Still not where I want to be," His canine almost clipped you as he spoke, forcing you to flinch, "Trying to get to 300."

Your thighs squeezed around his torso, shamefully turned on by the risk. He made a grumbly, understanding groan on your breast with a dose of intense eye contact.

"You like big guys, huh?"

You huffed and pushed on his enormous shoulders, "Obviously."

Another kiss to the center of your chest gave way to lower and lower toothy, ruttish kisses. He loved the way you fueled his ego by acknowledging his size.

"Can I--," You sighed, not wanting to be picky, but concerned for your pussy with his combined leverage and clumsy habits in this position, "Can I sit on your face--?"

"Yes."

That was a lot easier than you anticipated. He quickly wrapped his arms around you, determined to not let you move without his manual aid, and fell onto his back.

He was very pretty under you.

Hair splayed out, at least before he started to tie it up, his impressive body all exposed for you to admire and touch, his eyes glued to only you.

You didn't want to part from the print in his sweatpants, perfectly content grinding on it instead, but he hooked his hands beneath your thighs and pulled you up.

As disappointed as you were to part, you knew you needed this so it'd fit easier.

It took a moment to find the tiny zipper of your skirt, but when you did, Kirishima moved your hands away and did it himself, grinning at your cute frown.

"You gotta get used to me doing things for you, baby," He dropped them off of the side of the bed.

"Baby?"  You repeated to yourself, more focused on the name and insinuation that he wanted to do this regularly than his head between your thighs.

He brought you out of your spinning head with a long, slow kiss to your thigh, longer and slower than he originally intended, because now he wanted to mark all of you up.

Another bite reminded you--

"Be careful with your teeth- please."

The chewing on your other leg paused, and he chuckled against it, "Of course."

A slow, gentle kiss through your thin, soaked undies, "I'm real careful when I wanna be."

Your posture struggled to stay up already. You took a fistful of his hair and screwed up his ponytail as his arms held you down, fingers hooked into the fabric.

The sharp, invasive noise of a door opening and a familiar, scratchy voice shot your body with a stiffness you had never felt before.

"Hey Dumbass, let's get this over with already, I wanna--,"

Two pairs of red eyes widened at the same exact time as you caught your breath to scream bloody murder.

Kirishima pushed you into the mattress with a Hero-like quickness, shushing your shrill curses and smothering your body with his comforter and own body.

It was far too late. Bakugou was standing stock-still at the open door, hand struggling to find it again in order to close it, while he stared open-mouthed and beet red at his buddy.

Despite you yelling at him to get out, fuck off, get lost, and the like, he only listened to Kirishima when he was told to, 'Wait outside the door for a sec, man.'

"It's okay, it's okay, it's okay," He leaned over you, breathing hard and on the verge of tears, "It's okay, you're okay--,"

"It's not!! It's not! You didn't lock the door?!"

"The dorms here don't have locks," He explained, way too calm for your liking.

You repeated, 'Don't have locks,' until you could find another thing to focus on.

"He saw me," You got worked up again, sniffling, "He--,"

"Awww, nonono," Kirishima lifted you up into a strong hug and kissed the side of your head, "I promise he doesn't care, baby. He's not that kinda guy."

It was too much, you were just with him in the gym and now he saw you, completely nude, sitting on his best friend's face. You wanted to leave immediately.

"I'm gonna talk to him, okay?"

He tried to let you go, but you stayed latched on, making him laugh. He grabbed a stray shirt from his bedframe and smelled it, then offered it as a replacement.

You first wiped the tears off of your face with it, hasty and angry, then mumbled as he stood back up, "Beat him up or something."

"I'll try," He joked and gave your leg a little rub before leaving to meet Bakugou in the hall.

His absence was sobering.

The very first thing you did was shimmy yourself into his gigantic t-shirt, with an obnoxiously long inhale through the dark grey cotton. His scent was like a shot of morphine.

Then, you sat very still, his collar over your nose, comforter still confining you like a caterpillar, to listen to the sounds of hushed voices right outside the door.

Why the hell didn't you knock--?

Don't get pissy at me! You're not supposed to have chicks in your room!

Bro, you KNEW how I felt and you KNEW she was over.

And YOU knew that Stats assignment was due at six. YOU asked ME to come over at 5.

It wasn't quite Kirishima throwing punches, but he did sound upset for you. You linked your fingers together and stared at the door.

I thought I made it pretty clear what I'd be doing for the next few hours, man.

No, No, No, and you still haven't. Looks like you beat the shit out of her! What the hell is on her neck?!

Dude, come on, you've never seen a hickey? Oh, waaait--

Don't.

There was a moment of tense quiet, and you were still holding out hope for Kirishima to kick his loud friend's ass, but it never came.

Let's just hurry this up.

The doorknob twisted then returned without opening. You pulled the shirt back down where it was supposed to go. More heated words, then Kirishima reappeared with an initial look that could kill. It was replaced with a polite, mom-pleasing smile at you.

"Hi," He waved, then glanced behind the door, "I hate to ask, but--"

"Move." Bakugou reappeared and didn't even spare a glance in your direction.

Despite Kirishima's warnings, went straight to the desk and sat a bag down, his permanent grumpy face no indicator of what he was thinking or what he felt.

Instead of joining him, Kirishima sat on the mattress next to you, found your skirt in the process, and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead.

"Like I said, he doesn't care," He rolled his eyes back to Bakugou, then sighed at how adorable you looked in his bed and the blunt pain in his pants.

His hand rested on the side of your face, the pad of his thumb dusting over your puffy bottom lip. He leaned in to kiss you.

"Oh my god, let's go," Bakugou clicked on the online assignment.

"Would you chill the fuck out?" Kirishima spat, his face dropped to one of bitter annoyance.

Red flag or not, you couldn't tell through your rose-colored glasses. You liked how upset he got over not spending alone time with you right now.

Even Bakugou, who knew him a lot better, a lot longer, than you, looked surprised to hear that tone leave his mouth.

Ever trifling, he shook it off and reminded him as he walked over, "Coulda done this shit two weeks ago."

As they shared more passive-aggressive words, you realized all you could do was sit there and stare at a wall. Your phone was on the desk next to Bakugou's hip, so there was no quality distraction for you.

You started counting the stripes on your skirt, then pleats, then stitches.

That got boring, so you started trying to look at what was on the shirt he gave you. Some old red guy.

He had the same old Hero on a few posters in his room. Crimson Riot-- you realized he must've modeled his whole Hero theme from him. The name and vibe were pretty similar.

He had a lot of pillows. Your understanding was that guys usually had two, or just one. But he had seven on his bed. Maybe he had sleeping problems? Or maybe he just liked pillows. Hopefully not like that.

You wondered why he kept someone like Bakugou around as a best friend. You were still pissed off at him, so it was hard not to stare, but you could get away with steeping in your frustration a while longer.

Not only was their Class better-known throughout the school for being really stupid and really great, but Bakugou was the acme of stupid and great, so every rumor and preconception you had was confirmed, so far, with his behavior. Just as much of an asshole as everyone says.

But it must've meant something that Kirishima liked him. Either Kirishima was meaner than he was letting on, or Bakugou was nicer. You hoped it was the latter.

They were stuck on a problem, and while Kirishima didn't seem to care so much, Bakugou was losing it over his own answer being wrong.

Apparently, their assignments had slightly different questions. Modeled the same, but with different values. And Bakugou couldn't figure this one out.

You got tired of hearing him repeat himself, how he had to be right, how the person who made this version of the assignment put something in wrong.

Although you had different teachers for Statistics, the material couldn't have been entirely dissimilar. You stood and realized you didn't even need the skirt-- his shirt was like a sundress.

"I didn't think Hero Course students took normal subjects," You tiptoed over to the desk, on the opposite side as Bakugou, and kept your eyes fixated on the problem on the screen.

Maybe if Kirishima wasn't distracting you, you weren't distracting him.

You mumbled under your breath, "Events which occur randomly... rate r counted over... period of length s so... event count X is Poisson...Find P of X is 2, X is... okay, ummmm," You tucked your lip between your teeth and stole the paper from Bakugou's side to record all of the given elements of the question.

He rolled his eyes and crossed his arms as you started explaining in much clearer detail what they all stood for, why it seemed like a bunch of mumbo-jumbo, and answered his sometimes mind-bogglingly stupid questions with enviable patience.

It was starting to become obvious that Kirishima was not perfect. He even struggled with basic math.

One could argue that based on the number of times you caught him looking at the hem of his shirt on your thigh, it was safe to assume that maybe he had something else on his mind, too.

"Sooo, that would mean...?"

Kirishima leaned forward, two strong forearms on either side of you, to type his answer into the box.

Your tummy was doing flips as he rolled his chair closer, face pressed into your waist.

A little green checkmark appeared. He pulled you in by the opposite hip and kissed your side while Bakugou snatched up the work you helped Kirishima do.

"You're such a good teacher," Was mumbled low and smiley into the softness of your waist-- you cringed away, but once again, he held you still.

Bakugou didn't acknowledge it. But he didn't shoo you away or make any comments when Kirishima tugged you into his lap.

First, you shoved his shirt down so there wasn't a repeat of last time, and then, you tried to keep your pitiful protests to yourself once he started bouncing his leg up and down.

He pressed you to the edge of the desk so he could still write and type while Bakugou basically just told him what to do.

After that question, there weren't any more mistakes that needed fixing.

Which was fortunate considering that you would be incapable of forming a cohesive sentence. The constant force of his thigh was absolute heaven against your neglected pussy.

You kept face until Bakugou began to gather his things to leave. When he turned to place a textbook in his bag, Kirishima snaked an arm around your waist and started to add to the marks he left on your neck earlier.

Your thighs squeezed and you clawed at his knee and his wrist. He bit your ear in return and shoved his face into your hair.

The blond slung his bag over his shoulder.

Kirishima briefly came back to the real world with a quick dap-up and, "Take care, dude. See ya tomorrow."

"Yeah," Bakugou glanced at you, then back at his buddy, "Be safe."

taglist:

@dough-yo-bu @yellowflowerbub @fairywriter-oracle @kirismoon

@kwiwin @cringingmemeries @leo6472 @nijha2tact

[its-me-vixen]

I felt braindead by the time the Chinese instrument cover of Crazy Train played over a jump cut filled chase scene through a city the narrative barely even cared about full of visual gags and no substance. I feel more offended the longer I sit with it.

This movie did nothing but talk down to an audience it thought needed jingling keys of CONSTANT exposition and unearned character development.

Every character they brought back was so out of character it was depressing. That level of shit writing is what they expect you to accept from a theatrical release when it flowed like a fucking direct to video series squeezed into a movie, except The Dragon Knight already did it better. At least that shit had time to be decent. This insult to the series is a testament to the kind of shit we're expected to just accept these days.

You as the viewer aren't allowed to have a single thought without the exposition saying it out loud. Every moment that felt like it could be something was ruined by a marvel-esc quip or joke. Nonstop. That was the humor the entire time. Every word Tai Lung fucking said had me thinking He Wouldn't Fucking Say That.

I'm disappointed in Jack Black for being a part of this. Even he couldn't make this any better because he didn't have a single second to act around the constant talking.

There wasnt even a fucking character arc for the stupid fox. She had no personality beyond what the never ceasing trudge of progression needed her to believe or be. She had no character beyond being annoying.

I seriously could not imagine a worse fucking entry into this series.

[p-taryn-dactyl]

when fire meets fate

a/n: ok guys this isn't the best but i started writing at the library and this just came so easily so im just proud i wrote it word count: 2.1k warning(s): mentions of graphic injury/death - EXPOSITION SO MUCH OF IT - dialogue heavy - wrote this in a day im sorry for any mistakes - cheesy title and bad picture sorry :( prompt: agatha stumbles across someone unexpected in an ancient abandoned library on her search to learn more about the scarlet witch

Agatha simply wanted to investigate the magical trail she had been following for the past few weeks and now there was a knife being held to her throat. In her defense, she thought this library was long abandoned and had wanted to do some research. 

“Who are you?” Your voice shook with the effort to sound tough but Agatha could see the fear evident in you. Guess you didn’t have much experience holding people at knifepoint.

“What?” Your confused voice sounded, the knife pointed at Agatha’s throat slightly raising as your brow furrowed. Oops, she had said that out loud. Agatha simply laughed, raising a hand to lightly push the knife away, letting her magic swirl around her hands and in her eyes. You stumbled backwards, hand tightening around your knife, bringing it to more of a defensive pose. 

“You,” swallowing, you steadied yourself to appear composed in front of the witch, “You haven’t answered my question. Who are you? What do you want? How did you find this place?” Agatha chuckled again, pointing at you with a finger ignited with magic as she slowly approached you. 

“Now, I believe you only asked one of those previously, darling.” 

You felt your face grow warm at the name, internally scolding yourself. You wanted your questions answered, no matter how deflective this beautiful woma-witch became. Agatha passed you, her shoulder lightly brushing yours as she took in the state of the once great magical library. The giant bookshelves had been eaten away with termites, the wood sagging with the weight of the books. The books which were now covered in layers upon layer of dust and webs. But it wasn’t the state of the actual library that caught her eye. No, it was the makeshift bed made of the slightly sagging reading chairs and blankets eaten away by moths, pillows that looked older than Agatha. Bags of groceries, new and fresh, sat on a splintered reading table, a box of oatmeal cream pies open. You turned to where you now faced her back, your eyes trained on the purple magic still wrapping itself around Agatha’s arms and torso. If you squinted, you could’ve sworn you saw the witch’s palms and fingertips turning black. 

“You…live here?” Her voice echoed in the silence between the two of you. She turned to face you, one eyebrow raised. But the answer to her question was obvious, whereas yours still hung in the air unanswered. In a huff, you sheathed your knife on your hip and crossed your arms, glaring at the witch. 

“Seriously, who are you? And why do you,” you gestured to the magic surrounding her, “glow?” 

Agatha let out an actual laugh that bounced off the walls of your home, raising her arms in a surrendering position. 

“Okay, okay.” 

Making her way to where your makeshift bed laid in the middle of the library, Agatha took a seat in one of the unoccupied seats, wincing at how it sagged in the middle and the old fabric staples dug into her arms and legs. 

“The name is Agatha Harkness, lovely to meet you dear. And for the glowing,” she finger quotes, “I’m sure in this day and age you can recognize magic.” 

You glared at the slight taunt, cautiously coming to sit in the chair opposite Agatha. But she was right, your question was a bit stupid considering how much people saw of Doctor Strange and the other superpowered Avengers. Superpowers, something in your mind clicked and you leaned forward, stabilizing yourself on your elbows as you stared at the witch. Agatha blinked at the sudden intensity. 

“Wow, you really want me to answer your questions. Fine, but only if you answer a few of mine.” 

You nodded, you had an idea of what she would ask you and it was a perfect way for you to get answers of your own. Agatha adjusted in her seat, her discomfort visible on her face. 

“I can’t quite say what I want per say, however I’m here to simply do some reading. It’s a library after all. Now, as to how I found this place…” She trailed off, her blue eyes boring into you, matching your intensity. You wanted to look away, the eye contact intense and intimate in a way it shouldn’t be with a woman you just met, but you didn’t. Apparently this was the right choice as Agatha smirked slightly and continued talking. 

“I’m almost positive I’ve known about this place longer than you’ve been alive, sweetheart.” Damn this woman and her pet names, your heart was too vulnerable and you already felt a crush beginning to form. Agatha leaned back in the chair like it was a throne she had rightfully claimed, all traces of discomfort gone. 

“Now, I believe it’s my turn to ask questions.” Her eyes never left yours and you felt pinned in place as you gave a slight nod. 

“Why are you here? A pretty thing like you shouldn’t be so hidden from the world.” 

Damn, damn, damn, you couldn’t handle another compliment, you couldn’t stop the heat from rising in your cheeks. You finally broke eye contact to fiddle with the ring on your middle finger. It was one your dad had made from a kit he had bought online. You still remember the kid-like joy in his eyes as he gave it to you, proud of the slightly hideous creation. Tears built up in your eyes and you willed them away. You wouldn’t cry in front of Agatha, not as your first impression. 

“I have nowhere to go, I stumbled across this place and decided it was better than nothing.” 

Agatha just stared at you before she spoke, her words a monotone disbelief. 

“You just stumbled across an ancient underground library hidden in a labyrinth-like cave?” 

Agatha caught the slight flinch before you laughed, nodding as you leaned to grab an oatmeal cream pie, opening the wrapper just to hold the sweet in your hands as you stared at it. 

“Come on now, there’s more to this story and I’m curious. Spill!” She clapped her hands together, a mug of steaming tea appearing in her hands and a soft blanket surrounded your shoulders. The chairs you sat on weren’t as uncomfortable anymore and Agatha brought her legs up like a little girl listening to a great story. You almost wanted to laugh at the imagery, this woman growing on you in the short time you’ve known each other. 

“Can’t you like,” you wiggled your fingers at your temple, “find out yourself?” 

Agatha gasped, bringing the hand that wasn’t holding the tea to practically grasp her pearls. 

“I’m aghast you would think I would invade your privacy. Now spill your guts to me, stranger.” 

It was at that moment you realized you hadn’t shared your name. 

“I’m Y/N.”

“No last name?”

“Not anymore,” you muttered under your breath, “No, no last name.” 

Agatha merely conceded, gesturing for you to continue. You took a breath, silently wondering how holding a knife to an intruder led to an impromptu therapy session. 

“I was left by the entrance of the tunnels,” you started strong, enjoying Agatha’s reaction. Her body tensed and she leaned forward slightly, close to spilling her tea. “It was after a doctor's appointment, I was so confused because they called my parents. My parents! I’m an adult for crying out loud, that had to break a law or something. Anyways, I had some blood drawn and after the tests were finished,” you paused, looking at the skin on your arm where the needle had pierced it, “The doctors and nurses started to look at me weird. I was brought to a secluded room, where my parents were waiting. My mom looked angry but my dad, my dad looked devastated.” You had started to choke up so you paused, looking anywhere but Agatha. You supposed it felt nice to let all this out, afterall, you still didn’t understand what was really happening to you or why it was happening. 

“Apparently, they found something in my blood, something rare and dangerous. To add insult to injury, the only place in the world which could help me learn about it shut down decades ago and then, ha, ironically caught on fire.” 

Agatha looked at you skeptically, swirling the now cold tea in its mug. 

“Why is that ironic?” 

Instead of answering, you looked at her tea and stood up. 

“Is that cold?” 

She nodded slowly, confused as to why the temperature of her tea mattered. You held out a hand and she gave you the mug, her face perplexed. For a moment, you just looked at the dark liquid, rocking the cup slightly in your hands, feeling the tea barely touch the rim, almost spilling. Then, you concentrated, willed the tea to do what you wished. 

“Um, what are you-?” 

Steam started rising from the mug and you handed it back to Agatha, who winced when her palms touched the ceramic. You went back to your seat and held your palm out towards the ceiling. Agatha just watched, passing the mug in between her hands. A small flame ignited in the center of your palm, slowly growing larger until you brought up your other hand to morph the flame into a sphere. 

“Of course, when they found the mutated gene in my DNA they didn’t know what it really would change. Not until it manifested.” 

“How did it manifest?” 

You knew the question was coming, you knew you had led the story to this yet you didn’t want to relive that moment again. But you had started telling Agatha and for some reason you didn’t want to stop. 

“I went to my parents house after the appointment. My mom was screaming about how she couldn’t raise a freak, how the x-gene better not be noticeable once it emerged. My dad stayed quiet, silently collecting everything he deemed his from the living room. I don’t know when my mom noticed what he was doing, I was just frozen on the couch, staring at the blank TV screen. Then they both were screaming and I had noticed the temperature in the room was heating up,” You hated this next part, hated how it haunted your sleep but you had to keep going, “It got too hot. Things were melting, bubbling, and boiling everywhere, including my parents. When the screaming stopped, I got up from the couch, and they were behind me on the floor, unrecognizable. I think that’s when the actual fire started. I don’t remember much, just the smell of the smoke as it surrounded me and the sound of the police and firefighters. There were other men at the scene who took me, they were wearing suits and earpieces, very out of place for a house fire. Figured out pretty quickly that they worked for the government, S.H.I.E.L.D, or something because they kept talking to each other about mutants, inhumans, Skrulls, whatever they are. I guess they thought I was too in shock to understand. But then they tied up my hands and feet and left me at the front of the tunnels. Obviously I got out of the restraints but I knew what leaving me behind meant. I’m dead to the world.” 

Agatha stayed silent for a few moments, blinking at you in shock. You laughed nervously, putting out the ball of fire that was dancing between your hands as you talked. 

“Sorry, that was too much too soon.” 

Agatha shook her head. 

“No I asked, all you did was answer. How long have you been here?” 

“A few months. I couldn’t risk using mine or my parents bank account so I kinda took a credit card from a lady who definitely won’t miss it or see the charges. I know this because nothing has happened yet.” 

Agatha shook her head again, this time almost in a scolding way. You didn’t like her being disappointed in you but you weren’t ready to accept why yet.  

“No that just won’t do,” she exclaimed as she stood up, setting her tea down and clapping her hands together, “You’re obviously in need of a teacher and, quite frankly, any company at all. You’ll come with me!” 

You laughed in disbelief, also standing. 

“Oh am I? You’ve just decided?” 

Agatha nodded, coming to stand close to you and wrapping an arm around your waist. She started walking towards the entrance-slash-exit of the library, her grip tight. 

“Plus, I like you,” your heart fluttered a bit at her words, letting Agatha walk you through the tunnels. You didn’t notice her magic behind you gathering your things in a seemingly endless suitcase, “This’ll be fun!”

“Wait, didn’t you need to do some reading?” You ask, concerned. Agatha chuckled and patted your arm. 

“Oh don’t worry dear, I got what I needed. Now, how do you feel about New Jersey?”