#There's no pointing fingers of villainizing of anyone in this post

[privateolives]

When media only represented lgbt people as sassy and promiscuous, everyone cried for more wholesome stories. Now that the norm is wholesome falling in love stories, people are demanding kinks again.

Girl, your enemy isn't one or the other. Your enemy is The Single Narrative and pretending that either representation is Bad is a fool's game.

Just because something is more prevalent at the moment doesn't make it inherently bad. It's perfectly good to represent that parts of the experience. We just need to recognise that we need to start diversifying our stories when one particular narrative starts becoming too prevalent, instead of declaring one thing Bad Representation and going into the exact opposite camp to show how Not That we are. If that's the only attitude we have, then we risk making this new Opposite the only new narrative.

Prevalent depictions tend to come in waves of reactions to things happening in society but also very much in relation to previous depictions. You see this not just inside LGBT narratives but also in media representation of racial stereotypes, focus on masculine and feminen tendencies in fashion history, etc.

Lately though, I've been seeing posts getting more and more hostile towards the Previous Representation as if it's that experience's fault for existing - such as lgbt people who "pass straight" vs "incredibly queercoded", narratives of people who want to heal troubled family relations and a general tendency for creative work (especially in writing prompts) to just take one trope and inverting it, then calling that the peak of creativity, even when there's not necesarrily any bottomline thought to what this new story is trying to say beyond "being the opposite".

That's not to say any one person who wants to try turning tropes on their heads are inherently Problematic or anything of the sort, but it's worth examining if one representation makes that representation inherently problematic, or just in need of more diversity.

More diversity than just pointing at the opposite camp and making that the new norm until we're all sick to death of that one. Lest we just repeat the same cycle without creating actual diverse representation; Or even worse, start creating the idea that the beautiful, multi-faceted experience that is the LGBT community as a whole just falls into new binaries of experiences than just sex and preference.

[todayisafridaynight]

Prior to sending the ask I was just guessing what matrophobia meant based on the root words but I looked it up after and went ohhhh and then you confirmed that extra dimension to it and I went OHHHHH

I think that gets to the heart of what I've been thinking about, that bittersweetness, because despite his best efforts... of course he could never end up anything like Yoko, but he still ended up with an abusive "household." Because in addition to Masato ending up how he did, he has to see those same situations play out, feel that same tension in the air between Jo and Ichi, over and over for almost a decade straight.

Like, in a way, he's forced to put himself in Toshio's shoes when that happens. He can't really get through to Jo, in the same way Toshio can't get through to Yoko, but he can try to step in before lasting damage is done, and he can try to make it bearable for his son. You know. Have a nice talk. Treat him to Peking duck. I'm SO normal about the (drawn-out) parallels of those scenes

So then with Jo... he kind of does become his father, even if he never wanted to (no one wants to), both through his ruinous neglect of Masato at birth and through how he comes to look at discipline and corporal punishment. I'm sure it's not lost on him in Masato's case (owww), but with Ichi, it's not like he has any reason to see him as his son... But How Far Can That Take You.

Because it's like, at the start, he was openly beating Ichi in front of Arakawa and not letting up much when Arakawa intervened. But then you have The Yubitsume Scene and Arakawa walking in on All That and... he looks sorry. Sorry for being caught, probably, but sorry nonetheless. Like... what changed between then and now... have you two had a Heartfelt Conversation... do you know where Arakawa got that scar... are you unable to change your "nature" even then...

Side note bro your SHOE is the size of his TORSO I promise you do not need to kick him with all the strength you've got like what the hell is this 😭😭😭

BUT ALL THAT ASIDE thank you so much for delving into the symbolism! Wonderful read. I don't really have an eye for symbolism, so that makes it all the more enjoyable to revisit the comic and everything with what you've gone into. I think a lot of your experiences resonate with mine, so conversely I'm not sure what others would take away from it, BUT I think there's enough there that's so insightful and evocative that it's effective without personal experience. I don't think there's anything I could add, so. Yeah. For once I am happy to sit back and take it all in... On that note, definitely looking forward to your next comic!

AUUUGH YEAAAH YEAHEYA HYEAH THAT EXACTLY OUUUGH OWIEE OWW.....

that's literally it though. like no extra notes. except The Obligatory Few i dont think it was an accident that arakawa is set up as the beginning of the game's 'protagonist' and planting that 'troubled family' taste first thing in our mind. i remember how i felt when i first saw arakawa walk in on jo and ichi and then arakawa taking ichi out for dinner i was just like🧍‍♂️Girl No The Cycle.... It's Continuing...... //screams// LIKE UGH IT WAS SO GOOD BUT ALSO OWWW STOPPP and then on the REPLAY it just hurts more cause with the added context to jo's character its like Oh No...... You're Your Father's Son....

and youre right: jo doesn't have an implicit reason to see how he treats ichi is wrong, hence he similarly doesnt have any reason to stop- not unless arakawa intervenes of course (and i will stand outside my window thinking of the possibility arakawa ever did try to have A Conversation with jo... arms folded behind my back and all like Man™️....)

oh but yeah, absolutely no problem ! im lowkey of an egotist so i do like to talk bout the stuff i make. More In Depth (though thats obvious considering the fuckin essays in the tags i always leave ☠️☠️) gerjlgaELKjg. so i was happy to explain ♪(´▽｀) !! what i like about symbolism is that it can be intentional or not, and the fun is always finding it just by chance. i cant explain it properly, but i just think its a neat 'seasoning' of sorts to drawings (❁´◡`❁)

[mewtwoandme]

I was hoping this would all blow over, but since it's continuing to happen, now with people attacking other artists of the commewnity. I'm putting out my two fucking cents! Cause this whole art/character theft and pointing fingers, who stole what from who bullshit it driving me up the fucking wall!!

Long story short, it started with me and one other blog whose name I won't mention publicly. Despite the horrible light they tried to paint me in, I don't want anyone going to this person and ganging up on them. This person had some serious bitterness towards more "popular" artists and claimed that I've made characters similar to theirs and once used a pose they apparently used before (which was a very common pose, considering it was a reference from the game version of mega Y). Since then, they had desperately tried to conjure up evidence, narrowing down to the most miniscule detail how I've been stealing from them when I hadn't even known their blog existed until I was forcefully thrown into that unnecessary drama with the unhinged call-out posts they've made. With this being said, I'd like to point out that they never came to me or addressed this concern with me in the first place. They had every opportunity to privately DM me if they had suspected I was "stealing," but no, simply because they already made up their mind that I was a thief, that was a good enough reason to lack common fucking sense and decency, making what should have been a private issue public, going on to villainize and dehumanize me. And apparently, it hasn't stopped with me either, cause recently I've been seeing other artists in the community having to deal with this where people are being white knights on high horses, pointing fingers on how one artist's mewtwo looks "the same" if not "totally identical" as another artist's mewtwo. I refuse to believe it's a coincidence. But what makes me disgusted is that since TC's post, apparently it's had the opposite effect on some people and they're hopping on this blame bandwagon like it's some damn media trend!!!

This is NOT okay! Nothing about this kind of behavior is funny! It's upsetting to all of us. We dont need you causing problems where there isn't any, thinking you're doing us a favor! The majority of us are adults for gods sake! We are old enough where we don't need other people coming to us being tattle tails saying this person did this and that. That's what little children do! If you suspect any form of theft, I think I speak for ALL creators in this commewnity that we'd prefer you DM us privately saying something like "Hey, I think this person is copying you, might wanna look into it." And if possible, provide a link to the art in question, for which we would kindly thank you for making us aware and we'll handle it ourselves from there. Just a brief, yet SIMPLE interaction...that's all we ask!!! Don't even come at me with "Well, it's scary attempting to talk to an artist that's well known." Or dare I say ~pOpUlAr~ If you claim that taking the first step to send me a quick DM makes you nervous, yet you have no problem making public call outs in posts or asks, belittling and degrading what could actually be innocent artists doing nothing wrong, literally leaving yourself open to all kinds of comments and opinions from all kinds of people....I'm sorry but your anxiety isn't as bad as you say it is then, if being rude and ignorant in a public post/ask is easier for you. If you come to us, shaming someone else who 9/10 probably isn't doing anything wrong, thinking you'll be in our good graces for doing so, sorry, you're not going to be told, "Good job!" with a pat on the back and given a lollipop! You're just being an asshole.

Quick reality check for everyone who's made it this far before I end this train wreck of a rant:

People can have similar ideas that coincide with one another! There's only so much you can do when a whole community is focused around drawing the same character! We mainly draw mewtwos and mews, you're bound to find a plethora of similar colors, patterns, and designs because of it! Creativity only goes so far when trying to stay true to a character and not stray too far. It's not a crime to take inspiration from other artists' characters, we actually encourage this! It makes us feel good that you liked something we've done and you want to incorporate it into your own designs! It makes us happy that we inspired you! The line is crossed when someone does a literal copy/paste of a character down to the exact detail, and they call it their own original creation. That my friends is what stealing actually is!

[cripplecharacters]

Hi, I have some questions regarding confusion over a certain topic. First off, I have a character with a severe scarring on the upper right side of their body. I've heard in some tumblr ppsts that such appearance shouldn't be fetished. Then I stumbled across some posts, mentioning how the character can be described as 'pretty with it'.

For sure, I'm trying my best to normalize the looks. Because I have a love interest set up for them and while they don't mind the looks, I feel confused on how to convey their appreciation for the character's looks even with the scarring. They like the character as they are and stuff.

Sorry if this is a lot, I tend to get confused on how to handle such scenarios. And this sort of varying opinions is making me go '???'.

It's okay if you take your time to answer! Have a good day ahead of ya!

Hi!

"Fetishization of a disability" and "thinking that a disabled person is pretty" are two very different things. Despite the somewhat similar sound, they're not connected by much.

In the context of scars, fetishization would be what I would call the "Zuko situation" (yes, I love ATLA as much as the next guy, let me explain) - the scar isn't really a scar, it's more of a, I don't know, make-up? It's just the color that changes, it's all sharp edges and intricate shapes, the facial structure stays the exact same. There's no physical symptoms. Essentially, it's permanent body paint.

It fetishizes a disability by making it inaccurate, sometimes almost mystical. You don't see anyone fetishizing how real people with facial burns look like because they only like the idea of it. They don't care for us; they don't care for Face Equality or why we are offended by "villain with scar #32482". It's just a fun splotch of color to add to your OC when you're out of ideas.

Another aspect of fetishization is the "a scar is the worst thing in the whole world", the tragedy porn. It's using a disability for cheap drama. Again; it's inaccurate and exploitative. I don't see writers excited to depict my "coming to terms with my facial difference as a teenager, and eventually being proud of it" experience because where's the shock value and pity points? Fetishization, again, is about liking the idea of it, not the real thing.

Describing your character as beautiful, well, isn't any of that.

The point that I tried to make on that post was that a scar is often considered inherently ugly. That it's a stain on someone's beauty, that it would be better if it wasn't there.

"Brown beautiful eyes, thick facial hair, strong cheekbones - he managed to be irresistibly handsome even with that nasty scar going across his nose."

This, well, sucks. It's as if the character's beauty and their disability are contradictory forces that have to fight each other. But in reality, scars and any other visible disabilities are neutral. If the character is pretty, their scar is pretty too. It's a part of them, so how could it not be?

"She was a cute girl; her pastel pink, thinly braided hair framed her face, defying gravity by curling towards her mouth. The burned skin on her lips shifted as she smiled, revealing a tooth gap. She played with her equally pink 'white' cane, holding it between the two fingers she had on her right hand, bopping it against the ground to the rhythm of the song."

This, on the other hand, just states her disability as a part of her person. It's nothing weird or shocking, she's pretty, has a burn on her face, she's blind, she's missing some fingers, she's enjoying the music - it's almost boring when compared to the usual "scar introduction". There's no "even with her horribly burnt face", no "if only she wasn't scarred she would be beautiful", no "poor thing, lost her fingers in a horrific fire" - instead, she is beautiful, and she has scars, and she sure is having fun. That's it.

This is my best shot at explaining the difference between "fetishization" and "yeah they're pretty :-)" ft. my questionable writing - I hope this makes sense.

I definitely took my time to answer, sorry about that. Thank you for your ask!

mod Sasza

[kai-anderson-whore]

The summoning (jmp x tate Langdon x reader smut)

Summary: you had always been fascinated with serial killers and true crime, one day you decided to try and summon your two favourite killers

Warnings: smut, three way, oral (tate receiving), p in v sex, doggy style 😏, summoning a ghost, ouija board,

Word count: 1,3k (another short one it was supposed to be longer)

A/n: this is a request by @villains-are-hot, thank you for the request and once again I apologise that it was very rushed at the end and I took ages to post this 😊

•¤❅¤•.•°˚˚°•..•°˚˚°•.•¤❅¤•.•¤❅¤•.•°˚˚°•.

For as long as you could remember you had a unhealthy obsession with true crime/ serial killers. Some may say it's far from normal, it was frightening. You knew stories of cases watched all the documentaries and more.

Some people say it's the type of obsession you hear killers having before they kill. You didn't care it was a interest that you were so passionate about. You preferred learning about serial killers, how their mind works, what drove them to do it. The ones you liked learning about the most was Tate Langdon who got shot dead in his bedroom after shooting up his school one day in 1994. And the other was James Patrick march a well known serial killer from the 1920s to the early 1930s. Legend has it they both still reside in their place of death.

You didn't know if that was true or not, you visited the hotel that James Patrick march resides in but nothing, you couldn't exactly go to the murder house since people live there. It intrigued you deeply, the thought it could be true or not.

You didn't know what you were doing when the idea popped into your head, you thought it won't work but it was worth a go. Now researching things to do, how to summon ghosts, some where a bit far fetched others seemed fake but you were willing nonetheless. Finding a method writing down everything that had to be done.

You sat in front of the oujia board your fingers delicately on the triangle piece. You took deep breaths trying to stay calm circling the board three times before saying "James Patrick march and Tate Langdon I invite you to this space" waiting a few seconds you felt eerily quiet and cold.

"Is there anyone here?" You asked the board, you felt something pushing the triangle to yes, you gasped in shock now feeling nervous but your fingers still remain on the piece. "How many sprits are here?" You then asked feeling uneasy slightly regretting your decision. The piece moved to the number 2 you didn't know if it was you or if it was actually two spirits here but you slowly asked your next question "w-who are you?".

The board moved to around spelling out two initials JMP and TL you gasped removing your hands from the board standing up. Completely forgetting to say goodbye. You immediately grabbed the board putting it away "what the fuck, it's probably me doing it it's got to be" you whispered to yourself.

"Not quite dear" a voice chimed making you yelp in fright. "What the fuck!?" You turned around seeing two guys there awfully familiar to you, they looked identical like discrete descent, "w-who are you?" You asked in fear.

"I'm James Patrick march and this is-" "Tate Langdon" they said, you furrowed your eyebrows in confusion "you're both dead no this can't be true." You couldn't believe what you were seeing they looked exactly like the killers you knew so much about. "How are you here?" You asked a thousand questions running around your head.

"Well you summoned us" Tate chuckled pointing to the ouija board. That's when you realised "shit I forgot to say goodbye" mentally cursing yourself, "it's quite alright dear, but I must ask how did you manage to get us free?" James asked.

"Dude she used the ouaji board to get us out" Tate said like James was dumb. "That's fascinating" James eyes light up "I don't know how we could ever thank you" James added. Tate's eyes on you like you’re his prey, swallowing a lump in your throat as his steps grew closer to you from behind. "I've got an idea" Tate's breath on your neck sending shivers down your spine. "Y-you don't need to thank me" your voice was above whisper unsure what they mean.

"Well boy enlighten us with your idea" James's velvety voice made you shiver more. You couldn't deny they were both very attractive despite their tendency to killing. "Well she's pretty isn't she? Don't you agree?" Tate smirked his hands running down the soft skin of your arms. "I do agree with you she is quite remarkable" James agreed beckoning his steps closer to you.

You didn't know if your body was filled with fear or anticipation maybe both. Closing your eyes feeling their breaths breeze across your features. James colds fingertips grazing gracefully along your bare arms bringing goosebumps to their wake. "I think we shall reward her for setting us free from our eternal resistances" James smirked his pencil moustache raising up.

"I was thinking the same" Tate chuckled with a devilish smirk, you didn't know what to feel scared? Or turned on? Maybe both. Feeling their cold hands on you but you didn't protest instead you let out a small sigh tugging on your shirt removing it from your body your head felt like it was spinning feeling their lips on your neck. You felt yourself being guided to your bed. Seeing Tate now above you with a mischievous smirk on his face.

You didn't know where James was until Tate pull away from you, seeing James now in his briefs flipping you over on your hands and knee. You whimpered in anticipation for what's to come feeling James's cold fingers hooking into your underwear peeling the fabric of your underwear off you and into the floor. Tate in front of you his impressive length in-front of you, holding yourself on one hand stroking him, earning a low groan erupted from his mouth. You felt cold fingertips teasing your folds collecting your arousal bringing it to your clit circling it in slow torturous motions.

A small gasp left your lips, your body automatically responding to James's touch "that's it dear" he says huskily, Tate still knelt infront of you his eager length desperate for attention. You took Tate's cock in your hand stroking him kitten licking the tip making him buck his hips into your touch more. You took Tate in your mouth swirling your tongue along the tip, gasping as you felt James enter your heat.

James thrusted into you slowly you moaned against Tate's length. A low groan rumbled from his throat his hips bucked further in your throat. James thrusts grew more faster and harder, tears forming in your eyes. "Fuck" Tate hissed his hips essentially fucking your throat.

"You feel wonderful darling" James hissed his grip on your hips tight, nails digging into your skin only adding to your pleasure. "Fuck" you moaned feeling Tate twitch in your mouth signalling you that he was close. You kept your movements along Tate's cock till he releases into the back of your throat, swallowing every drop. James kept his movements thrusting harshly into you you felt close to the edge "I'm so close" you moaned. Tate was watching you and James with a smirk, his skin flustered. James didn’t stop his movements hitting that spot guaranteed to make you see stars.

With a few more harsh deep thrusts, your body trembles, back arching releasing over James’s length trigging his own release deep inside you. His thrusts became sloppy till they came to a halt. Trying to catch your breath “that was something else” you chuckled. James and tate shared a wicked smile between them, “oh we’re don’t done, we’re only getting started” Tate’s voice make a shiver run down your spine waiting on what’s to come.

[captain-hawks]

Spicy sleepover with Shoto Todoroki in the back of a car 👀

coming undone

shouto todoroki x f!reader

Your job as pro hero Shouto Todoroki's personal assistant becomes marginally more difficult when he's hit with a Quirk that disrupts his body's temperature regulation abilities—particularly when you have few other options at your disposal in the back seat of his car.

wc: 2.5k

c: 18+only, pro hero!shouto, semi-public sexual activities, dry humping, lap grinding, fingering, coming in pants

SPICY SLEEPOVER — PART V

“Right there,” Todoroki exhales roughly, the leather seat groaning beneath him as he shifts. “Keep it there.”

Despite the borderline pornographic noise crawling its way up his throat as his head tips backward, white and red strands of hair falling across his forehead, it’s most certainly platonic—the steady pressure of your hands on his exposed chest, his black button-down shirt wholly undone. 

There are ice packs between your palms and his bare skin, angry swirls of stream hissing from the place where they meet.

Your job has been fairly simple for the past year, being pro hero Shouto Todoroki’s personal assistant. He’s a kind, fair employer that doesn’t want for much, if anything at all—to the point where oftentimes, you have to force him to pass along tasks you should be the one doing. You’re fairly certain that the only reason he even put up a job posting for an assistant in the first place was at the insistence of some of the shareholders at his agency. 

The easy, amicable friendship that you’ve found along the way—a byproduct of the large amount of time you spend together—has likely been the one thing that’s kept him from phasing out the position entirely.

But this past week has been difficult, to say the least.

Regardless of his constant tenure amongst the top hero ranks, even he has met his match on occasion. Unfortunately, the match in question this time around was an unstable, overpowered ice-wielding villain whose Quirk had a rare, unfortunate side effect. Finding a weak spot in Todoroki’s defenses when his body began to tip over the edge of overheating from the massive amount of flames flowing out of him, the villain managed to dig its claws into Todoroki’s internal temperature regulation, throwing his body’s equilibrium entirely off kilter.

The effects are expected to fade within the month, but for the time being, Todoroki’s been mostly out of commission as his body temperature rapidly rises and drops without warning. As his assistant, you’ve been by his side nearly round the clock since the incident.

By and large, you like to consider yourself an utmost professional. Because despite the fact that Todoroki continues to dominate social media’s unofficial “Most Eligible Pro Hero Bachelor” poll (something which he wasn’t even aware of until you told him one night over take out food in his kitchen), you’ve managed to avoid your body and mind’s subjective opinion on the matter.

Despite the way it seems as if he shares more with you than anyone else in his life as of late.

Despite his complete and utter avoidance of matchups and dates with no explanation other than, “I’m not interested.”

(Despite the frown that flitted across his face when you laughed as you told him someone at the agency asked you out several weeks ago.)

Despite the fact that sometimes, it feels like the soft, relaxed smile you’ve come to know so well is one reserved just for you.

But your patience and self-preservation have been put to the test like never before as of late—particularly during the moments when Todoroki begins to overheat. Twice already, you’ve had to help him out of his clothes and into an ice cold shower, half of your body getting soaked in the process while you helped him stay upright. 

Which is an issue you find yourself faced with now after he insisted he’d be able to make it through a brief appearance at tonight’s hero gala. 

At the very least, he managed to make it up onstage for the few remarks at the podium that he was slated for, but once he returned to the empty seat beside you at your table, that’s when things went south. Quickly picking up on the telltale signs of his body temperature rising as you took one glance at his flushed skin, you hardly made it out to the parking lot with a handful of ice packs you’d begged the kitchen staff to give you before he was collapsing in the back seat of his car. 

Pointedly ignoring the bead of sweat that seems to be teasing you as it drips precariously down the side of his taut neck, you ask, “You okay?”

Exhaling slowly, he reaches out, his hand brushing against yours as he goes to take one of the ice packs from your grip, moving it to his forehead instead, where sweat-damp strands of hair now lie in a messy heap.

You firmly remind yourself how wrong it would be to mull over how ungodly attractive he looks in this moment as he sits there beside you with his thighs spread wide, chest heaving. 

“I think—shit,” he grunts, dropping the ice pack to the floor as a full-body shiver begins to wrack through him.

While most waves are either one extreme or the other, sometimes, his body instantly bounces from cold to hot—or vice versa. 

Quickly removing the ice pack you’re holding as well, you shove it to the other side of the back seat and quickly lean forward to the front of the car to swap the air conditioning setting to heat. When you look back at him, you frown. “I didn’t bring any blankets, but maybe this will…”

You start to shrug off your cardigan, but Todoroki reaches a hand out, placing it gently on your forearm.

“It won’t…can you just…” he trails off, his blue and gray eyes staring into yours as he tries (and fails, miserably) to suppress the way his limbs have begun to shake from the chill. Glancing down at where his fingers are still resting against your skin, cold as ice, he shakes his head, letting you go. “Nevermind.”

It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know what he’s suggesting. And while you’re appreciative that he’s respectful enough of your professional working relationship to backtrack the thought, the scope of your job has already exaggerated such fluid boundaries over the past few days—what’s another line crossed?

You begin to shift, and Todoroki’s eyes go wide as he exclaims, “You really don’t have to—oof.”

Before you can lose your nerve, you slide into his lap.

With his chest to your back, Todoroki doesn’t seem to know what to do at first, his hands hovering awkwardly at his sides. 

“It’s fine,” you huff out, voice coming out a bit higher than you mean for it to as you grasp his wrists and wrap his cold arms around you.

Both of you sit in silence for a moment, save for the occasional chattering of his teeth, and you hope he’s not looking in the rearview mirror to see the way your eyes are scrunched shut as you try to resist the urge to mentally catalog the way your body fits against his. 

“Thank you,” he finally says, voice a little rough. 

Though his limbs are still ice against yours, you can feel him begin to relax just a fraction as the combination of your body heat and the warm air blasting through the vents up front begins to defrost his chilled extremities. 

“I feel like the shower was worse than this,” you joke, if only to lighten the moment as you remember the sight of the endless rivulets of cold water cascading down his broad, bare chest.

The warm scent of his cologne that clung to the t-shirt he insisted you change into after you ended up halfway drenched yourself.

But as he exhales, a lukewarm huff of air tickling the back of your neck and your body unintentionally sliding deeper into the cradle of his hips as he shifts slightly, you know you’re lying.

This is far fucking worse.

His hand twitches against your chest as he shivers, and you inhale sharply when his thumb unknowingly skates along the skin just beneath one of your breasts, the thin fabric of your dress doing little to dampen the sensation. 

“I’m sorry you’ve had to deal with all of this,” he sighs, voice taking on a remorseful tone. “I could put you in an easier position somewhere else at the agency, if you want.”

Turning your head sideways, the corners of your mouth tilt downward, brows furrowing. “You think this is going to make me want to quit?”

He shrugs, and you bite the inside of your lower lip to stifle the indecent noise that threatens to burst up your throat as his forearms press into your sides. “I would completely understand.”

“You’re going to have to fire me if you want me gone that bad.”

“Never,” he quickly replies.

You smile. “Dumping ice cold water over your head and wrapping you up in five layers of blankets could hardly be considered a difficult job. And this—this is perfectly fine. You’re kind of comfortable, you know.”

He rolls his eyes. “I can feel you starting to shiver, too.”

Shrugging, you flippantly wave your head. “This is still way more fun than that date I was supposed to go on tonight.”

Todoroki stiffens a bit beneath you, swallowing audibly. “I still don’t understand why you didn’t go.”

Given that you’ve yet to even admit to yourself yet that you’d rather spend time with Todoroki than anyone else, you simply reply, “I knew you were going to need me here tonight.”

Head falling back against the seat once more, he sighs. “I feel like I always need you.”

Your heart stutters in your chest, and you let your gaze fall toward the windshield as you weakly respond, “I’m the one that has to force you to stop doing everything yourself and give me work to do half of the time.”

Todoroki’s quiet for a beat, and you can see him flick his gaze up to the roof of the car from the reflection in the rearview. “Because I don’t want to let myself—”

You blink several times. “It’s okay to depend on me, that’s my job.”

His voice sounds strained when he answers. “It’s more than that.”

It’s a battle in and of itself to resist the urge to fidget in his lap beneath the ministrations of your rapidly galloping heartbeat. 

“I want things that I shouldn’t want,” he exhales, voice low and careful.

Briefly, you begin to wonder if perhaps you’ve succumbed to hypothermia.

Carefully, you place one of your hands over his. Todoroki stills, his shivering limbs falling quiet beneath your touch. 

“Do I get a say in this?” you ask, lacing your fingers together.

He inhales sharply. “I didn’t think you—”

“I’m good at my job,” you shrug, finding the courage to turn your head sideways to look at him again, your body moving in his lap in the process.

And it’s then that you feel something hard pressing up against your ass.

“You’re very good at your job,” he confirms, the last few words dissolving into a groan that he can no longer stifle.

Letting yourself relax further into him, you angle your face so that your noses are nearly touching. “I feel like there are easier ways to get warm.”

He leans a little closer, the scent of mint gum lingering on his lips as they skirt near the periphery of your own. “Are there?”

You nod, subtly pressing your backside down into his front. “Science would shame us for not trying.”

He groans again, his mouth brushing against yours. “I think you’re right.”

This time, it’s Todoroki who rocks his hips upward, slowly dragging his cock against the divot between your ass cheeks. And when you finally let out the breathy, keening moan that you’ve been holding back, his lips crash into yours in a messy, hungry, sideways kiss. 

Your hypothesis very quickly proves itself correct as Todoroki grinds against your ass, blazing heat flooding your body and flaring white-hot in the pit of your stomach as he groans into your mouth, your spit-soaked lips slotted together in the best messy approximation you can make of kissing at this awkward angle. 

“Fuck,” he rasps, hands roaming across your front to grasp your breasts. 

Shrugging down the straps of your dress and bra, you let your tits spill out, and Todoroki’s hips stutter as his fingers begin to knead your bare, supple skin. 

“Want you to feel good, too,” he breathes out, and the gravelly state of his voice alone leaves you whimpering as he begins to pinch and tease your pert, sensitive nipples.

It’s becoming increasingly difficult to resist the urge to touch yourself, particularly when your aching, dripping cunt is right within your own reach beneath the skirt of your dress. Sliding a hand down between your legs, you writhe under Todoroki’s attentive touch as you feel how soaked your underwear are.

“Can I—”

His chin is on your shoulder, his eyes focused on where you’re currently stuffing two fingers into your panties and moaning softly as you slide them through your creamy slit. You can practically feel the fresh wave of arousal that leaks from your quivering hole at what he’s asking.

“Please.”

Todoroki lets out a satisfied, relieved sound as his hand makes its way down your chest, quickly replacing your own inside of your underwear. His hips grind up against your ass harder as a near-feral groan rumbles in his chest while he drags three fingers through the sloppy mess your folds have become.

“You’re so wet,” he pants, struggling to get the words out fully as they die on a groan when he slips two fingers inside of you.

“Oh my god,” you whimper, your body drenched in a burning wave of pleasure as he presses an open-mouthed kiss to the side of your neck, thrusting a finger in and out of your cunt while he drags his thumb over your swollen clit.

“So fucking warm,” he breathes out, teeth caressing the soft juncture between your shoulder and neck. 

“Are you?”

He plunges a second finger inside of you, and you spread your even legs wider in his lap, choking out a moan as he makes a point of fitting his fingers inside of the hot, tight, soaking wet warmth of your pussy, still rutting his hard cock against your ass all the while. 

“You are.”

A scorching whip of pleasure snaps sharply inside of you and bursts open wide, flooding your veins with a euphoric, intoxicating feeling that leaves you trembling and gasping and moaning as he finger fucks you through each cresting wave of your sudden climax.

“Shouto,” you whimper.

His hands slide to your hips, gripping you hard as he brokenly moans, dragging his cock up and down your ass in firm, hurried strokes. You can feel it when he tips over the edge of his orgasm, his thick cock pulsing as he comes in his pants, breathing hard.

With one hand grasping the back of the driver’s seat, you turn to look at him, a fond, excited, and dizzying wave of warmth blooming in your chest at how entirely undone Shouto Todoroki looks—lips slightly parted as his chest heaves, eyes alight in post-orgasmic bliss, a dark stain of cum seeping through the front of his pants.

“Warm enough yet?” you ask coyly.

He tilts his head to the side, eyes narrowing slightly as his mouth curves upward in a smile that makes your heart leap. “I think you should stay at my place tonight, just in case.”

[tyinghershoe]

ੈ✩‧₊˚ Unscented |

Shigaraki’s hands were as soft as Tenko allowed them to be.

Pairing: Shigarki/Tenko x Reader

Genre: fluff/oneshot/drabble

check out my masterlist!

You’d love to one day write parallels about Shigaraki’s hands.

How the fingers that wreaked havoc upon Japan once held you with the lightest touch. That, yes, they’ve caused pain and suffering - but at the same time, you’ve never felt anything softer.

They never said Tenko wasn’t human. 

Your first encounter with him was as expected. Shigaraki was always on guard, his eyes distant as they glanced you over. There was a moment of silence as this took place, the wooden floors creaking each time you shifted your feet, you wondered if this was the only thing he listened to as time passed (there was no room for conversation with just him and himself).

Rumors of the League were whispered in every alley you turned to, and while you never considered yourself a villain, the thought of being a perfect fit for society was just as incomprehensible. You noticed the flaking of Shigaraki’s palms and wondered if he would’ve ever fit that mold. (One day, when you’re both better acquainted, Tenko will help you shape your own).

“I wouldn’t call you a villain,” Tenko whispered to you one night, his voice barely audible over the creaking floorboards. The bar was still, with you two the exception, enclosed between the dim lighting from the lamps above. This was the closest you two have ever been, your fingers gently placing globs of lotion onto the webs of his hands. They weren’t as rough of a texture as you imagined, the skin feeling delicate beneath you. Perhaps it was the brand you bought this time.

Those eyes, once distant and wary, were now soft as they met yours. “You have yet to kill anyone,” he persisted, his tone somber and solaced. “And as far as I’m concerned, you still work a 9 to 5 job, just like the rest of the world.”

“I have yet to pay off a parking ticket.” You confessed, your voice filled with a type of guilt. The alcohol here was less than holy, yet the man in front of you offered acceptance, one that was devoid of judgment. There was a dumbfounded expression as he closed his eyes, allowing you to softly trace the irritation away as your thumbs gently soothed his flaking face - you wondered if this source of discomfort was physical or something more.

“I won’t sell you out.” He deadpanned, before turning to you with a menacing grin, “But seriously, I destroy everything around me. They call me a murderer and yet you’re still here. You’re still here.” Shigaraki grunted, his eyes turning dark and distant as if it were your first time meeting.

There was only a hum of acknowledgment as you finished aiding his inflammation. It’s times like these in which Shigaraki was unpredictable, but you were only ever worried for his sake. Tenko was always an impulsive man. “I’ve never felt safer,” you murmured, rewarding you with a scoff of disbelief. 

“You’ll regret saying that if you ever turn to dust.” He mumbled, the threat empty. His (now soft) hand wrapped around your wrist, yet they held no real malice - you made it a point to ignore the fact that his pinky has always been raised.

-

a/n: How many months has is been since I last posted a fic? My age is showing in the sense that it’s hard for me to sit down and write all the time, but the mha hyper fixation is back, so hopefully the desire to write comes with it! This is my first time writing anything that isn’t Izuku Midoriya, I’m trying to branch out of characters that I’m comfortable with, but I promise I’ll post more of him soon.

Thank you for reading!

Follow me on ao3 @tyinghershoe

[itsabouttimex2]

Deep Sea Sympathies

Yandere Sun Wukong

(Syntax alphabet is up next, then an LSO + Primal . Feeling super down, so I wrote something a little sadder. The villain tiers post I spent two days writing and rewriting again and again got anonymously sent to another user, who skimmed the majority of it, left out my opening and ending points, and called at least one of my criticisms “ridiculous” and even has a reblogger claiming that I “hate Macaque”, that I want “everyone to hate Macaque” and that I’m “salty”. Maybe it’s childish, but that kind of hurts when I’ve spent literal months making content for the show (often involving Macaque) that I genuinely love. I only wrote that list because I wanted to give my honest opinions as a break from my usual content as I prepared to watch and write for Season Five. Maybe I’m in the wrong and my rant was just stupid? Do you guys want me to delete the “Season Five Prep” posts?)

“I still can’t believe MK got me back into this,” the simian before you chuckles. “But I’m kinda glad he did. I really missed drawing. I forgot how good it felt.”

“…I see,” you “answer”, maintaining a stiff and poised position, staring down at the collection of utensils that the hero is using. “Are you… having fun, then?”

“Aww, bud. Come and take a seat, okay? Look, I’ll even put out a little mat for you. Come and take a seat,” he invites, plucking one of his transforming ginger hairs to make a proper cushion for you.

His tail winds lazily around your leg, tugging you closer and closer to the squishy orange padding.

“C’mon, bud,” he says, cutting through your hesitation. His voice has a powerful edge under all the sweetness- reminding you that the Monkey King is someone you can’t say no to. “I want you to draw with me, kiddo.”

Wukong is fond of this- pulling you into little “bonding sessions” that take up the whole day and leave you without time to spend with anyone else.

It’s funny, though, really- you are the last person that need be manipulated away from others.

“The Great Witch of Gloom,” was the title that you had been assigned. Before you had a name, before you had taken a step, before you had so much as uttered a cry… your fate had been decided.

You were to be a wicked soul with dark motives and a darker heart.

As old memories flood into your ever weary mind, Wukong arranges a few sheets of paper in front your mat. The grip of his tail slowly tightens, and you cease all stalling.

Lowering yourself to the ground, the mat provides a cozy cradle to shield against the cold wooden floor.

“…it’s almost Winter,” you mildly comment, tracing a finger against a smooth plank. “It’s getting colder.”

“Oh,” the simian casually asks, scooting his mat closer to yours, “you like the snow?” Here’s chance he always adores- any rare tidbit of info you offer is a chance for him to spoil you, stocking up on presents and snacks in an attempt to drown you in platonic love.

It didn’t help that you always felt so indebted after he was done stacking gifts into your arms and bag.

“So, bud- what’re you gonna draw?”

The curiosity in his voice is almost innocent, almost sweet. He pushes the multi-tiered box of crayons towards you, smiling.

“C’mon, pick a few out!”

Awkwardly; and with a shaking hand to boot, you reach for the box.

It’s… not a comfortable sensation. Waxy paper around thick wax sticks makes for an awkward feeling in your hand, and you slightly recoil from the hueless cylinder.

“Aww, kiddo. No one draws with white- heck, you’d be better off eating it! Not that I’ve, uh, ever done that.”

“…I don’t know what to do,” is your blank confession that leaves Wukong quirking an eyebrow.

“What, you don’t know how to draw? You’vd never had… oh. Oh, kiddo.”

Realization colors his golden eyes, leaving the simian king with a sympathetic frown. Your parents wouldn’t have ever let you have something as fun and bright as crayons, would they? How could he have forgotten that?

It had been a nightmare for the Monkie Kids to pry information out of you, and a further mess to try pushing you towards a healing state.

And, honestly- Wukong’s doting ministrations really didn’t help. All the love and gifts in the world could not undo your traumas- but certainly left you feeling as though you were mired in debt.

Not that you had the words to voice those feelings, leaving Wukong to continue piling on with his affections- all in the futile hope that he could love away the demons of your past.

“Okay, bud. Maybe we stepped out of your comfort zone, huh? Alright, my bad. Tell me what you wanna draw, and I’ll pick out the crayons for you, okay?”

“…I don’t know what to draw, though.”

His frown deepens. It’s hard to think that someone as young as you could be so… he wouldn’t say broken. That was far, far too cruel a word for someone he loved so dearly. You were… “cracked”, maybe. A little “tarnished”.

Like you had given up on seeing a light at the end of the tunnel and decided to instead drift slowly along in a dark ocean.

…actually…

“Bud, don’t you like the beach? C’mon, why don’t you draw something from there, yeah?”

“…could I?”

Your little words break his heart. You shouldn’t have to feel like you need permission for something as simple as drawing a damn picture. But you *do*, so he answers with false cheer-

“Of course, kiddo! Draw anything you want!”

“…how do… how would I draw… a jellyfish?”

Finally, a real smile graces his lips.

“I didn’t know you liked jellyfish,” he says, in a too familiar voice that lets you know you’ll be receiving a loaded armful of themed plushes and stress toys in the very near future.

Another load of guilt, another load of debt.

“I’ll take you to an aquarium one day,” he tacks on, unaware of your growing insecurities. “And we can look at them together.”

To him, this is healing. Love and affection and unending comfort.

And certainly, Wukong is far better a guardian than your parents were. Instead of blaming you for powers you couldn’t control, he was always ready with praise and applause. Instead of resigning yourself to rotted garments rummaged from the trash, you had brand-new clothes and warm shoes. You were never hungry. You were never bored. You were never alone.

And, above all else- you were loved.

But you were not happy.

And you doubted that would ever change.

[save-the-villainous-cat]

Hello dearest kitty, I'm here begging on my knees for some fluff

Okay okay I'll stop, but it was a funny start especially after your least post, but I really love your writing and I would love to see you write some sub villain X dom hero fluff, about self care and maybe a little bit on self harm cuz I have exams and this is my comfort trope.

But regardless if you write it or not I want you to know that I really appreciate all your work and I it makes such a huge difference in my life, you're one of the people I can look at and be happy 😁💖

tw mention of self-harm

“This is…nice.” The villain frowned and hugged their own legs, almost as if they had never been in a bathtub before. Still tired, they leaned against the tiles of the bathroom wall. All the hero could focus on were their lashes when they closed their eyes.

Admittedly, the hero hadn’t considered this to be the result. They hadn’t expected to end up in bed with their nemesis. It would have been easier if this was part of a mission, they reckoned. But fate was much crueler.

Now feelings were involved. Complicated, difficult feelings. Sometimes they didn’t know if they should blame themselves or the villain. After all, the villain was devoted and passionate. They were tactical and brilliant.

And they were also pretty. Ridiculously pretty.

The hero swallowed.

Why was this happening to them out of all people?

“I don’t think anyone has ever made that kind of effort for me,” the villain said. They smiled and the hero’s heart dropped.

“You mean letting in some water?”

“Well, yeah…and the breakfast. The soft kisses. The massages, you know?” The villain looked at the hero again. “No one has ever done that for me.”

For the hero’s taste, they were too far away from each other. Even though the bathtub wasn’t the biggest, the hero didn’t want to sit on opposite ends. They worried their bottom lip between their teeth.

“Can you come closer?” they asked and the villain nodded, obeying quickly.

The hero let out a shaky breath they didn’t even know they were holding once the villain sat down on their hips. At this point, it was like a drug. The hero craved this affection and these hands on their skin.

It wasn’t just pleasure, it was something more vile. Something that could bleed and die, something that could destroy the hero within seconds.

A few hours ago, they hadn’t realised it. Not really. But now that they knew they weren’t just attracted to the villain, they needed to control themselves.

“You know you deserve it, right?” they asked. The villain didn’t meet their eyes, though. “You deserve nice things.”

“Is this a separating-work-and-personal-life-thing? Because we both know I’ve done despicable things in the past.” The villain looked ashamed. They let their thumb run along the hero’s biceps, almost as if they could distract themselves that way.

“No. I like you the way you are. Even the parts you deem ugly.” The hero touched the scars the villain had tried to hide yesterday gently. They couldn’t stop looking at their nemesis. At their perfect face, their perfect body. The hero wasn’t sure why their melancholy was taking over the now.

Yesterday, they’d been laughing and kissing. They’d never had that much fun in quite a while. But now, responsibility weighed heavy on their shoulders again and they couldn’t bear the feeling of saying goodbye in a few hours.

“You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

“Have I ever been dishonest with you?” the hero asked. Brilliance wasn’t a gift. It was the result of hard work and the hero could appreciate and respect that the villain had been working just as much as they had. Both were the same in that aspect, destroying themselves because that seemed to be logical: working until you had results. No failing, no mistakes. 100%. All the time.

The villain smiled softly. Maybe even sadly.

“When you told me you love me yesterday?” they asked quietly but the hero already shook their head.

“No, that wasn’t a lie.” Their finger traced one of the villain’s scars. Somehow, the bathwater was getting hotter and hotter. The hero closed their eyes as they tried to calm down. “You’re lovely.”

It was only natural, wasn’t it? To be attracted to someone who challenged, yet matched them in so many ways? God, the hero was really at the end of their rope.

“Hm. You know, under all these layers—” the villain touched their chest “—of calculated and raw reason—” they drew a heart with their finger into the hero’s skin “—there’s a very gentle soul inside you.”

“Is that criticism or a compliment?” the hero asked. Again, looking at the villain made their stomach turn. In a good way. Kind of.

Their nemesis smiled.

“Just an observation,” the villain said. They leaned forward and kissed the hero’s cheek. “Thank you for taking care of me. I kinda suck at it.”

The hero’s hand was still on the villain’s scars.

“You just need a little bit of help, that’s all. Everyone does.” The villain was still so close. If the hero moved their head a little, they’d be kissing.

Hell, why was their heart beating so fast?

“Do you think I could be better?” the villain asked. “Do you think I could change?”

“Change is inevitable,” the hero explained. “But I…I got you.”

They held onto the villain a little tighter this time and honestly, they knew why their heart ached when they brought them home.

[keikiri-kitten]

first time for everything  ꙳⸌♡⸍꙳  k. bakugou

warnings: +18, smut, oral (m! receiving), prohero! bakugou, adult bakugou, virgin bakugou, nb reader

a/n: this is my first time writing an oral sex piece -- especially fucking bakugou ;-;, so i am open to criticism. i tried to write this with the sensation and thoughts that bakugou was feeling rather than the reader just because i wanted to lmao. this is also not properly proofread, i will come back to fix that! enjoy!

word count: 1.4k

“i’m assuming you thought you’d never get this far.”

you both never thought that you would get here. both of you posted in his kitchen in the wee hours of the morning with only a pale white light above the stove to help you see. while you never thought you would be giving a blowjob to prohero dynamight (who you also somehow bagged as your boyfriend),  he never would have thought he’d have anyone who would genuinely want to. 

thinking about a virgin, prohero katsuki who clams up now that you’re kneeling down in front of him. a katsuki whose eyes are wide and still as they stare into yours for some sort of permission. maybe he wants permission to be vulnerable? you’re right underneath his nose yet he’s running over how he got this far when he was used to shoujo mangas and porn. this is a different playing field and he is absolutely a rookie. the vermillion in his eyes is practically glowing as he’s overheating from the inside. he’s standing tall and tense and at this point, he can feel his heart beating in his chest and his skin burning in anticipation. there you are; patient and willing to go at any pace that katuski’s ready to take. your hands trail up his thighs over his gray sweats slowly, spotting the firm cock in his hand twitch. 

katsuki swears he’s never been more flustered in his life, “no.” his voice broke out into the atmosphere of the room, cracking and forcing his cheeks to go red. you can tell by his response that the typical rose tinted glasses he had on around you were now red and tinted with lust. “I didn’t.” while his voice is calm, he isn’t in the slightest. you can tell because every time he gets flustered around you, his voice loses that rough scratch and becomes smooth and quiet. it’s captivating, honestly. 

his breath hitches while he breathes in and only comes out in short or weak puffs. there’s a sudden sharp breath that he sucks in as his eyes dart towards your hands. “of course you didn’t.” you could spot his tongue quickly graze over his chapped, rosy lips. 

“shut up.” 

“you know you can always make me, right?” he brushes your comment off with an eye roll. the hero’s jaw relaxes for a brief moment before he grips his cock a bit tighter in his hand. anything he was ready to do, you were ready to do.  choking out a groan, the head of his heavy cock runs along your lips. this scene was erotic enough for him. tapping it along your lips, his head nudges up subconsciously while his jaw falls. you to part your lips for him. the hero cracked out a hum as the blushing, sensitive head of his cock ran along your skin. the slit was already glistening with excitement. “i would love it if you could make me.”

allowing himself to sink into your mouth builds up this feeling of anxiety that no villain could even get out of him. his nose turns up at the feeling of your warm, wet mouth. he never felt anything like it. sending his back against the wall, his eyes flash to the ceiling before his fingers slide in your hair. katsuki tries so hard to breathe correctly. he thought he had this. if he could handle the palm of his hand or his trusty fleshlight, why wouldn’t he be able to remain calm in your mouth? that would be ridiculous! however, you can spot his chest rising and falling through his hoodie. he doesn’t pick up on full he just might be in your mouth until you gag. you gag and that feeling can’t end for him. a thick hand slips from your hair and behind your neck to keep you there. katsuki’s a selfish man who simply doesn’t care or even think about your need to breathe. neither did you. not when your boyfriend’s breath picks up and every exhale includes a moan. you love it. you live for it.

you also love the way he suddenly pulls your hair, yanking your head back. it allows you to gently graze your teeth under his shaft. if he wants to play, you both could play, yes? katsuki chokes out broken whine. “fuck,” he bites, eyes shutting tight with his hips jutting closer to your face. he likes it. for a moment his life falls into a blur. there’s no need to think if you were willing to do the work for him. ‘just take it and don’t cum too fast’ is the motto. he admires you with his hands carefully brushing any hair from your face. dynamight loves to chase your mouth; rolling his hips and pushing his cock deeper because a second away from you is a second too long. 

there’s so many things you’re doing to him that he can’t even try to comprehend. he can feel your tongue toy with the head of his cock and his whole body twitches. when you start gagging his toes start curling. and he’s begging for it— physically. you can see it in the way his face twists in pleasure and frustration or feel it when his hips become more erratic while trying to work with you pace. 

the blond finds himself struggling for a solid breath. one thing about katsuki was that the heat never really bothered him. until this moment. his body is getting warm and his skin is clamming up under the fabric he’s wearing. it’s an uncomfortable feeling but he doesn’t want it to end. his cock twitches between your lips and of course you aren’t letting up in the slightest. it’s almost aching at this point for some sort of release. that familiar tense feeling is creeping up all over his body. katsuki’s breaths are harsh and sharp as he looks down at you with the most pitiful eyes. “fuck,” he grumbles. red eyes are chasing all over your face when he realizes that the feeling is getting far too intense to sit by idly. his mouth is open and he wants to speak. he wants to tell you that he’s about to cum but he can’t. you wouldn’t be able to make out a single thing he said even if he tried. 

you can spot his lip quivering before tightening his lips together. the hero is scrunching his nose and trying not to explode but looking at you makes the task difficult. lifting his back off the wall, one hand gripped the counter while the other covered his mouth. each exhale came out in a string of grunts and groans. he was pitiful— simply miserable being so vulnerable but he also never felt as good as he does at the moment. watching him, you can see his eyes cross. then you could feel it. katsuki’s body stiffens up so much you assume he lost all functioning of it as he filled your cheeks. the only thing that’s moving on him is his thighs that are literally shivering. 

in all honesty you don’t know what’s supposed to make his cum so much different than any other you’ve experienced. it’s hot and thick. the only exception? it tasted far better than what you’ve had before. 

the more you think about how he tastes, the less you actually realize that his body has already calmed down. not until his cock lazily fell from your mouth. he lowers his body to the ground to rest on his knees and get a good look into your eyes. stealing glances of one another, katsuki can see how messy your face really is. you notice how red his face is. he refuses to properly look you in the eyes. “don’t swallow—“

katsuki’s face loses all expression as he watches you do exactly that simply because he told you not to. it was a nice way to measure to see how out of it he still is. saying nothing, he cups your cheeks with his hands that are actually burning before feeling his lips melt on yours. he wants to take in everything; your swollen lips, your weak kiss from your exhausted jaw and the taste of him left on your tongue. pulling away from you always feels like a crime after kissing you, but if there was one thing the blond didn’t have, it was a proper breath. 

“how did that feel? did you like that?” 

“it sure as hell wasn’t bad.” he snaps, which only makes you laugh.

[the-broken-pen]

hi I saw your recent post I hope your moving went smoothly!

I have a loose prompt, if you wanted/had time/had WiFi to write: an interrogation room meet-cute between villain and non-field agent hero

As soon as the door clicked shut behind them the hero realized they were in the wrong room. A very wrong room.

They blinked. The villain blinked, taking them in.

“You look lost.”

“That’s rude,” they responded before they had the chance to think about it. “I work here.”

“Do you now,” the villain said, and the hero grew abruptly aware of their jacket stamped with the Agency logo, their gloves marking their designation as a touch based hero. It was a miracle they didn’t turn red with the embarrassment of it.

They tried the doorknob behind their back. It rattled, but didn’t open, and internally they started screaming. Just a little bit.

“They don’t open from the inside,” the villain said helpfully. “Security risk, or something like that.”

“I know that,” the hero snapped, and the villain raised an eyebrow. “Sorry.”

The apology blurted out before they could stop it.

“Did you just ‘apologize’ to me?” The villain looked at them incredulously.

“Uh,” they managed. “Funny question.”

“Funny—“ the villain cut themself off. “It’s not a question, I literally just heard you apologize.”

“Maybe you should get your hearing checked out,” they offered, and winced, because apparently every sane part of their brain had fled to France and left them with a singular suicidal brain cell.

The villain’s mouth was slightly open, as if they weren’t entirely sure what was happening. The hero shared the same sentiment.

The villain glanced at the camera, then back to the hero.

“You’re not a field agent,” they said, as if it was dawning on them.

“You don’t know that,” the hero said defensively.

“You’re holding a file.”

“Field agents are capable of holding files,” the hero replied. “Kind of rude of you to assume they can’t.”

The whisper of a smile tugged at the corner of the villain’s mouth.

“Sorry,” the villain said, and it was just barely mocking.

The hero rocked on their heels a bit, drumming their fingers on the file in their hands.

“They’re taking a while to get you out,” the villain observed.

“Yeah, Bob’s on duty.”

“Oh, so Bob doesn’t do his job?”

The hero jerked. “I did not say that.”

“It was kind of implied, though,” the villain said earnestly.

The hero had interacted with villains before: ending interviews for files, the odd informant. Never held a conversation though, and certainly not for this long.

This was why they didn’t do field work.

“What, no response?”

The hero smiled, sickeningly sweet. “I’m compiling commentary to add to your file.”

“So you admit to not being a field agent.”

“Continually makes assumptions, poor listening comprehension…”

“Not a very long list,” they pointed out.

The hero felt their smile sharpen. “The rest involves curse words.”

The villain barked a laugh, and the hero jerked slightly in surprise.

The villain regarded them like they were deciding something, as if they could see something within the hero that they themself couldn’t.

It had been a long time, longer than the hero would like to admit, since someone, anyone, had looked at them like that.

Like they mattered at all.

“I like you,” the villain said finally, slowly, like they weren’t entirely sure those were the words that were going to come out.

“You also like crime.”

“And you know how dedicated I am to that,” the villain said pointedly, a glint in their eye.

“How sweet,” the hero managed after a moment. “This is exactly why I became a hero. To be compared to felonies.”

The villain just smirked. They peered down at the handcuffed hands, then looked up at the hero. They weren’t sure when they had moved away from the door, closer to the villain, but somehow it had happened.

There was something warm to this; it sat in the hero’s chest, light and airy.

“I’ll text you when I get out. Say, next week?”

“You’re going to jail,” the hero reminded, mouth dry.

The villain grinned. “Right,” they drawled, amusement splashed across their face. “Jail. Which is where I am going. And where I shall stay. Absolutely.”

Something clicked, and the hero didn’t have to look under the table to know the villain had slipped their cuffs.

Despite their best efforts, their eyes flicked downwards, like they could see the now empty cuffs below the table. The villain grinned further, as if in challenge.

Are you going to tattle?

The hero swallowed.

“I’m really not supposed to be in here.”

“I’ve gathered,” the villain said. “You work the desk all the time?”

“Yes.”

“Personal choice, or…”

“I like it,” the hero said defensively. “It’s just puzzles, and I’m good at those.”

“Puzzles?”

“Putting things together,” they said vaguely. “Routes and evidence and all that.”

The villain’s brow furrowed, as if they were mulling something over. Their gaze returned to the hero, and it was searing.

“You’re the one who found me, aren’t you.”

“Oh,” the hero said, blushing. “That’s-I’m not—“

The villain leaned forward. “Am I in that file?”

The hero tucked it behind their back.

“No.”

“Are you lying?”

“No,” the hero said with emphasis. The villain laughed.

“You’re bad at this,” they said, but it was fond.

“Thanks, I try,” the hero said. They were waiting for the villain to stand up, but they seemed content to just sit there and watch.

“Mhm,” the villain agreed, and for some reason, the hero flushed even further.

The villain’s gaze snapped to the door, and they tilted their head as if listening to something.

“They’ll be here in a minute,” they said. The hero blinked. “To get you out,” the villain prompted.

“Right,” the hero said. They had forgotten they couldn’t leave, but the villain didn’t need to know that. They had a feeling they knew anyways.

“I’ll call you,” the villain reminded.

“You don’t have my number,” the hero protested.

The villain gave them a look. “You’re cute. Do you like pizza? We could do pizza.”

“We could never speak again.”

“Funny, I’ve never heard of that restaurant.”

“You—”

“Oh look, they’re here!” The villain said cheerfully.

The door swung open, and someone the hero vaguely recognized stepped in.

In the next second, the hero was in the hallway.

“Oh, and love,” the villain called, and the hero cursed themself for blushing. “Don’t be jealous of the other felonies. You’ll always be my favorite crime.”

The hero ducked their face behind the file, but they couldn’t stop the pleased smile that crept from the corners of their mouth.

[amarylliasky]

Aaand number 1 is a sorta crack au post?

Au: Everyone’s a Regressor!

- Just what the title says. Everyone (except the villains ofc) is a regressor. Including Cale. Who just happens to be a regressor, transmigrator, and reincarnator. Basically the same plot of Cale lived his first life in tboah and then reincarnated as krs before regressing and transmigrating into his original body after dying as krs. Plot twist though, most everyone else is also a regressor and he has no idea. He has memories of his first and second lives. Including the novel he read before he died, and doesn’t know why everyone is acting so different from what he knows!

- Why is his family being so nice and talking to him?! Why is Ron giving him so much lemonade?! Why does that Punk Choi Han act like he knows him already?! He and Ron and Beacrox know each other?! When did they meet this early?! Who are all these people in his house?!

- Okay? So his father is reinforcing the walls and they are making a navy in the Ubarr territory??? This is great. The heroes and his family are preparing for the war and he doesn’t even have to lift a finger!

- He does still carry out his plans though. Getting the ancient powers, saving Raon and coincidentally finding On and Hong, and helping Taylor and Cage. Speaking of which, Taylor stops his search for the vitality of the heart and just relaxes in Puzzle city with Cage for a bit before they meet Cale. Of course, the god of death still tells Cage abt the benefactor, who was not present in their past life. Cage is shocked to hear from the one who abandoned them in the last life, but still listens to him for Taylor’s sake.

- Deruth doesn’t want to send either of his sons this time, but he is shocked when Cale offers to go. Despite both his parents and Basen trying to deter him, he convinces them to let him go. They agree, only because Choi Han and the Molan duo will accompany him. Deruth doesn’t like the idea sending the person who beat his son to protect him. Much less the ones who betrayed his son to go off and play hero with the offender; but he knows how strong they are. If anyone can keep Cale safe, it’s them.

- Choi Han doesn’t hate Cale, but he doesn’t really like him either. He’s come to respect the younger during the time they spent as allies during the war, but the Cale right now hasn’t faced his future tragedy yet. He’s still young and immature, and acts like trash….right..? Wait- not right?! What is with this kid? Why does he act so different from before?! By all means, he should still be trash, soo why is he acting completely different from their past life? And why does he know things he shouldn’t know at this point in time? Or any point in time for that matter?

- He doesn’t seem to remember their life before, so why is he acting so strange?

- Cale is just trying to make it seem like he doesn’t know half these people so he won’t look suspicious, but why is everyone acting like they know him? He knows he’s never met the crown prince in this life, so what’s with that melancholy look?

- Meanwhile, Choi Han is just trying to find a way to find Rosalyn and Lock without seeming too suspicious. Luckily, Cale sent him away first.

- The vow of death never happens.

- “ I can’t tell you everything, but I can share two truths.” “Oh, there’s no need Cale-nim. I trust you.”

‘Wha..? How can you trust me? We’ve only known each other for a few weeks.’ “Don’t you want information on that secret organization?”

“It’s alright, Cale-nim. I’m sure we’ll run into them again soon.”

‘This punk…Does he know something?’ “Choi Han, do you know something about them?”

‘That’s not possible. Choi Han should have only encountered them once by this point.’

“No. I. Don’t. Know. What. You. Are. Talking. About.” ….

‘Was Choi Han always such a bad liar..?’

- Cale doesn’t get the annual rings right away. Why? Idk, consistency with Tcf plot?

- Everyone knows that everyone has regressed except Cale. Bc it’s funnier that way.

- So we got all his family members tiptoeing around him, trying to see if he remembers but also trying not to jog his memory if he doesn’t. They know the last life hurt him and they don’t want him to have to carry the burden of their deaths. (He does. And he’s not gonna make the same mistake twice).

- The Radish is still a hassle to deal with. Obviously they didn’t see all his powers from the last life as they were completely overwhelmed by the enemies, but with Cale’s help and their experience from the past, they are much stronger and more prepared. By the time the Indomitable alliance comes to the Henituse territory, there are even more secret weapons coming out of the woodworks. Seriously, the enemies are so confused. So is Cale. So is everyone else. Clopeh never stood a chance. It’s like the pointing Spiderman meme. And the enemies are a bonfire in the middle; being reduced to ashes while everyone else is being stunned by each other’s collective strength.

- The only enemy they have a bit of trouble with is the White Star. Not because he’s too strong, no, he’s already no match for Choi Han, Rosalyn, and Lock fighting against him altogether, but with the aid of Eruhaben, they now know that he’s a reincarnator. They have no idea how to kill him for good.

- So basically, they keep encountering him and injuring him further while trying not to actually kill him. Of course, that’s not to say that the rest of the WS allies are a joke, rather, they are just slightly challenging as literally everyone in the two continents speed runs getting stronger to prepare to combat his forces.

- To make it even more fun, none of the enemies retain their memories. Also, the citizens are random on who has memories of their past. Some do, some don’t. It creates chaos.

- Adventurer Bob remembers his past life where he died on his first adventure. He doesn’t know how he came back to the past, but he’s determined to use his knowledge of the future to his advantage! (What knowledge? Bro literally died on his first expedition).

- A middle aged baker in Rain City vows to live his life to the fullest this time! He’s going to build a Wyvern bunker! He’s going to save up funds! And he’s going to make up with his daughter who ran away to become a sword master! He’ll support her all the way this time. They may not be enough, but even if she doesn’t reach that level, who is he to stunt her only chance at survival in the upcoming war?

- Rookie Knight Jeffron has had quite a strange day. He woke up only to hear three of his comrades spouting nonsense about wars and fire and wyverns..? Just what is a wyvern? Must have been quite the nightmare. Psssh! As if! The Henituse territory would never fall to enemy soldiers! And attacking from the sky? Yeah right! What’s next? The Sun god accepts the darkness attribute? Hah! Jokes these days…

- Really, half the city seems to have had too much to drink. Or too little…? What has happened to Young Master Cale?! Some citizens could have sworn he had still been trash in the past. So what has happened to make their young master change so much? He doesn’t seem like he remembers? He doesn’t…right?

[schmergo]

My mom gave me this chocolate London kit for Christmas and I finally decided to use it as sort of a tongue-in-cheek Fourth of July activity. I love my mom and I don’t think she meant to psychologically torture me, but this experience lowkey led me down a true long dark night of the soul and then utterly broke me. Follow my slow mental unraveling below.

I should add that I am bad at crafts and once got gorilla glue all over my hands while fixing a child’s display-only gingerbread house and spent Christmas break with a hard translucent shell on both hands gradually flaking off over the course of a week, so a fair amount of this may be user error. But also the box says this is for ages 6+ and I’m over 5 times that, so maybe they could have done a wee bit more handholding.

Anyway, here’s my journey, which should absolutely be read in the tone of Jonathan Harker’s letters in the beginning of Dracula.

The first hint that something was wrong happened when I melted the chocolate according to instructions and the next step said to pour it into the molds. The chocolate was not really the “pouring” kind. It was a chunky sort of paste that I had to spoon in. The molds filled unevenly and clumpily and at this point, I asked my husband if he’d let me try to assemble the rest of this on my own because I think I can tolerate my failure better if nobody else witnesses it.

The instructions also cavalierly said to save a “handful” to use as mortar for the chocolate tower.

How much is a handful? A Schmergo-sized hand or a husband-sized hand or what? I have very small hands for an adult, but this is for ages 6+ after all. I opted for a Schmergo-sized handful. I would live to regret that.

I chilled the pieces in the fridge for 20 minutes as directed, then popped them out of their mold. To my surprise, they actually didn’t look THAT bad.

Looking at the pieces of Big Ben that I had to assemble, I became acutely aware that there weren’t detailed instructions on how to fit them together other than just “put them together” and no actual photographs of a real person doing it. The wall pieces were still unnervingly floppy and I decided to freeze them in hopes of hardening them while I focused on the clock itself.

In addition to Big Ben, the kit came with a chocolate taxi and a chocolate double-decker bus. The taxi popped out slightly distorted but in a way I liked, with playful Toontown vibes. But the double-decker bus was still mushy and fudgelike, warping and rippling alarmingly as I tried to push it out of the mold. I opted to put it in the freezer, too, along with the walls of Big Ben.

The instructions said to use the melted remaining chocolate to stick the pieces together and to apply it by sticking my finger in it and rubbing it on. It did not mention that, even after letting the chocolate cool, the warm melted chocolate would make the details of the pieces of the chocolate you’re sticking together start to melt, too.

I began to wonder if this kit had ever been formally tested by anyone and if the instructions were written by AI, like that Google search result that suggests adding Elmer’s glue to your shredded cheese when making pizza to keep it from sliding off.

Nothing can prepare you for how bad the clock part looked, so I’m just going to let you deal with it cold turkey. Et voila.

As I cemented my terrible melted clock together, it occurred to me that I’d have a lot more fun if I really leaned into the ominous post-apocalyptic energy of the abomination before me.

What if this was the result of some kind of whimsical Doctor Who villain— or maybe The Unknown from that infamously bad immersive Willy Wonka experience— transforming major London landmarks into chocolate… during a heat wave?

How will will the new Prime Minister Keir Starmer deal with this on his first day in office?

I yelled to my husband in the adjacent room, “Maybe I’m just turning into the Joker, but this is starting to feel more funny than depressing!”

“Mr. Starmer, a second chocolate vehicle has hit Big Ben.”

The bus actually came out pretty well!

Trying to fit together the pieces of the walls would have been maddening if I hadn’t already been driven mad by the clock portion. The pieces didn’t actually fit together quite right, they were still slightly floppy, and the instructions said— after I was in blood stepped so far that should I wade no more, returning were as tedious as go o’er— that I was supposed to use ELASTIC BANDS to hold together the tower walls while the chocolate was cooling.

The kit didn’t come with elastic bands and I don’t have any in my house except for scrunchies with my gross hair stuck to them, and I’d already come this far, so I decided to forge onward. Then a piece snapped off.

Honestly, this rules, no notes:

I did it, but at what cost? I don’t know much about British politics, but this feels like a poignant commentary on the current state of affairs or something. Should I submit this to the Tate Modern?

[callipraxia]

Further Interview Analysis: the "Ford Plan," and Bill's Blind Spot

I didn’t sleep again the night after the “musical Weirdmageddon” post, and wrote a lot of loopy stuff the next day, and posted none of it. But then I slept, so yay, time for an attempt at some actual analysis! Original interview is, as before, here, with credit and thanks to @fordtato and @hkthatgffan.

"I think that Bill was trying to find Ford, but I think- I always think of Bill as like, this guy who has, like - you know, he’s stirring the pot of soup that is the Ford plan, and he’s got like 900 pots of soup across the universe of different things he’s working on, and at any given moment, he’s so cocksure that it’s all gonna work his way eventually."

Bill’s a trillion years old, so it’s like, Ford disappearing for thirty years is like- [snaps fingers] is like somebody saying they’re ghosting you and then texting you the next weekend, you know what I mean? He’s like- he’s like [handwave] “Ford’s gonna- Ford’s gonna be back. Ohh, [air quotes] we had such a big fight, Ford’s sooo mad at me,” oh, you know, “our will-they-won’t-they-take-over-the-universe relationship, like, he’s gonna- he’s gonna march off in a huff, and he’ll be back, ‘cause we’re- is Ford gonna find anyone else in the multiverse that strokes his ego as well as me?” Is there anybody else in the universe that’s gonna make Ford feel as important as Bill? No, of course not, Ford needs validation, and so Bill knows Ford’s gonna be back eventually. 

...so, Bill still had a "Ford plan," did he? Like, some active plan that involved using Ford in some way to escape the Nightmare Dimension? Interesting.

I always interpreted his cliche-villain-gloating routine when Ford confronts him about being a liar as the point where Bill was ready to discard Ford altogether. If he had wanted to - if he could have been bothered - after all, he probably would have had a very high chance of somehow manipulating Ford out of the realization that he'd been played: Ford had been literally worshiping Bill a few days earlier. He was basically a cultist, and he was not only someone who'd spent way too long talking to Bill, he was also someone who could only confront Bill on Bill's turf, so to speak. But Bill didn't even try to turn it all around, because (ran my reasoning) he'd gotten what he really needed: the Portal existed, and you can't close Pandora's box. The technology was there. It would not, from Bill's trillions-of-years perspective, have taken very long to find some way to manipulate someone else into rebuilding the Portal once it existed even given Ford's attempts to hide the plans. Bill was scribbling on the Journal in invisible ink after Ford's last entry, before he buried it but after he wrote all about his plans in some detail, even drawing a map to J2. The Journal separation plan would have been laughably easy for Bill to work around. So at that point, I assumed that the only reason Bill didn't arrange for Ford to - if I may be blunt - kill himself the first time he blacked out was because Bill was basically getting off on the psychological torture and wanted to see how long he could keep it going/enjoy himself until Ford literally died of exhaustion. Ford certainly seems to think he'd have been killed if he had lost the game of 'hide and seek' in the asteroid field. I thought the idea that "Bill used Ford until he used him up, and now he was done with him" was basically canon, and that Bill paid no more attention to him from that point onward than you would pay to a broken Solo cup in the trash until Ford did something unexpected - ie, survived the Multiverse, came back with a death ray, apparently took out a few Henchmaniacs, almost shot Bill himself, and then survived the experience.

But here we have what I suppose amounts of authorial commentary which seems to directly contradict the idea that Bill didn't even regard Ford was worth finding and/or killing. Bill was looking for Ford, all those years - not all that intently, apparently, or really very long from Bill's point of view, of course, but still - and Bill still had a plan for Ford. Bill also, if I'm reading that right, seems to have really just expected Ford to come back, of his own free will, to join him eventually, not to kill him.

Of course, it's possible I'm reading that wrong, and Bill just knew that killing him would also give Ford a massive ego boost and that Ford would have to eventually reenter his orbit in order to attempt to do so. It's also true that Bill just not being able to accept rejection in no way, by itself, implies he wasn't planning to go "hahahaha, no" and kill Ford fifteen seconds after he finished begging Bill for forgiveness. But the 'Ford plan' bit seems to undermine that. Let's assume the hesitations and half-sentences are Hirsch improvising, not Bill actually cutting off a thought he might not like the end of. So was Bill genuinely never planning to kill Ford after he bumbled into the Nightmare Realm back in '82? And if not - what in the world was he planning to do to him once one of the Henchmaniacs caught him, then? And why do I have the feeling that whatever it was would have made murder seem both a) kind and b) not at all disturbing by comparison?

Also gives us, in a way, some insight into Bill. Kinda. We've always known that there's this...level, this very deep, seldom-relevant but very important level, on which Bill doesn't quite understand how people work. We see it primarily in the mistakes that Bill makes with Stan and Mabel. Maybe there was nothing he could have said or done in the situation with Stan to save himself, Stan had reached the point of literally suicidal determination and there's really not much you can do to budge someone at that point and especially not once their consciousness has already caught fire, but with Mabel - in Sock Opera, all Bill needed to do to win was keep his mouth shut for three more seconds. He was clever enough to see how Dipper and Mabel's relationship could be exploited to get Dipper to do what he wanted, but he did the exact opposite of what he should have done to get Mabel to do what he wanted, because for one thing he underestimates Mabel and for another...it comes back to that elusive Thing that Bill can't or won't understand about the deeper levels of humans. Or maybe it's Things, plural, and a distinct one for each person, but there's something there at the bottom of the personality that Bill apparently can't jive with.

With Ford, for instance, he clearly underestimates the power of genuine self-hatred and remorse. Bill may feel bad in some way about what he did to his homeworld, but look at the actual words of the Axolotl's prophecy: he feels that way not because he has realized at some point that what he did was fundamentally wrong, but because he wants to go home and can't. Essentially, his regret is for his own inconvenience. And in a lot of ways, I can see how that could have translated into him feeling he did, in fact, know all he needed to know to push Ford's buttons, because while it's never spelled out for us, it seems, based on his habit of carrying around family photographs on his person apparently since college despite not getting on well at all with his family, that there was maybe some tiny part of Ford that also wanted to "go home," and not just to flip off the town. Ford was also someone who deeply feared the consequences of his actions, if you read between the lines in the Journal - his worries about a 'Close Encounter' with the government, his scrawling that he must not lose his nerve on some early Portal notes, his talking more and more about Fiddleford losing his nerve in a way that starts seeming kind of projection-y - and Bill could certainly understand that fear perfectly well: we see Bill panic outright in the finale when he realizes he's out of options he's going to remotely like. In the unlikely event Stan would or even could save him, Stan obviously wouldn’t have done so so on Bill's own terms: Bill would have been stuck making an honest deal for once, or else left with the options of "die" and "take a one-in-a-million shot and do his invocation of the 'Ancient Power,' possibly putting himself squarely into the hands of an enemy whose full aims he probably does not know." But then, that's Bill's flaw - the things that drove him to become what he did were revenge and the fear of Death, of the ultimate loss of control. His arrogance makes him think he can take most any situation, no matter how disadvantageous it might seem, and twist it around sooner or later, but Death - well, that's it, ain't it? Or, as Horace might say in a really old translation:

When life is o'er, and Minos has rehearsed The grand last doom, Not birth, nor eloquence, nor worth, shall burst Torquatus' tomb.

(Horace, Ode 4.7. The Odes and Carmen Saeculare of Horace. John Conington. trans. London. George Bell and Sons. 1882.)

Bit different from most translations I've read, but close enough and in the public domain I believe, so we'll go with that. It's possible that Bill's...unique...state of existence may actually make dying an even more terrifying prospect for him than it for the rest of us. He became what he was to escape limitations, including mortality - but after all that killing and burning and transformation, he found out that he might not ever die, but that he could still be destroyed. And even when he found his own 'territory', it started decaying around him, which proved that dimensions, too, can die even if nobody is apparently actively trying to destroy them. What happens to him then? That's what he's afraid of, and he cannot quite grasp that others might be able to overcome that fear in service of either another principle or another fear. That's where he keeps running into trouble in the series timeline, too. It never occurred to him that Gideon might have enough humanity to want Mabel to actually care about him, instead of just about possessing her - much less that Gideon could want that enough to risk death for it. It was inconceivable to him that Dipper and Mabel could voluntarily turn their backs on even a blatantly false paradise to willingly walk into a living hell, just because it was the right thing to do. And as for Ford and Stan....

Well, on one level, he's right about Ford. When he met Ford, they did have certain things in common: frustration, ambition, deep and secret regrets, loneliness, and fear of facing the consequences. Ford's desire for respectability and honor from those who had rejected him his whole life may have extended this even further for him than it went for Bill in some ways: he couldn't even admit to himself that what he was doing was totally self-interested, whereas Bill, like Stan, has long since come to terms with his own selfishness. And like Bill, Ford probably didn't even have the ability to see that no matter what he did, it would never be enough, and would never really satisfy him. But death? Ford doesn't fear death. Never really has, as far as I can tell, but he certainly doesn't now. The way he lives his life, the man might as well be courting death - sending it roses every week and buying all its drinks at the bar, so to speak. He and Bill both fear the consequences of their actions, but 'consequences' are a category, and it's just as possible to be afraid to live as it is to be afraid to die. And Stan...Stan is harder to be sure of. Certainly Stan's priority is always for self-preservation. He's probably depressed to some degree, and he will risk life and limb without hesitation when he perceives a threat to that which he loves, but that's something that usually happens in a crisis. He doesn't hesitate because he doesn't think about what he's doing, which is what makes the Final Deal such an incredible gesture for me - he not only had plenty of time to think about what was going to happen, but he had to actively take steps himself to enable it to happen. To me, at least, that seems the hardest thing...but then, the whole situation in the Fearamid is one that brings to mind some of my worst fears, to the point that I find the scene difficult to watch and I almost scrapped an entire 22,000-word story once just because it required me to write about a small part of it. I'm sure Bill risked death, in some fashion, to become what he is, and I'm sure he was afraid of failure every time - but he was less afraid of a bad outcome that might come from leaping at the chance for some semblance of life, any semblance of life, no matter what that might look like or how long the odds might be, than he was of doing what he knew would lead to...wherever even destructible gods go, when they go. This is why the Stans were the thing he couldn't account for, really. He couldn't conceive of having a priority higher than self-preservation, of overcoming his worst fear - and that was what destroyed him. Maybe, anyway.

It's sort of funny, actually - I started writing a completely different post yesterday about how to develop a new character based on some of Hirsch's remarks, and in the course of it, I made the remark that I found it hard to fathom how you could write any of Gravity Falls, at all, without knowing ahead of time that it is the story of (if I can make so bold as to quote my own story's dialogue) "the Faustus of New Jersey and His Knucklehead Brother and the Hazard Sign From Hell," and without at least a fairly good understanding of who those three people are and how they got there. If one looks at the story that way, I suppose you could say the events after their starting situation are also the story of these three being thrown up against the places where their real deepest fears lie, and seeing who has something he really, really will not compromise on...or at least, it did at the start of this paragraph. But did any of them, really? Bill blatantly fails that test, of course - Bill runs, just like he's been, in a way, running for his entire miserable existence. Ford comes close to what might have been a couple of breaking experiences for him - either surrendering to Bill or, had the memory wipe worked the way he thought it would, with living with whatever the fallout of essentially killing his brother would have been - but the universe was kind and stacked the deck just enough to let him cheat his way out of that one, at least for the most part. But what about Stan? He didn't want to die, but we already knew that he'd risk it for the kids, because we've seen him do that before. The way he went about it this time arguably took more courage than the others, when he just went in swinging at an immediate and obvious threat, but it was still an escalation on an established thing. Stan's real worst fear isn’t death - it’s of being alone again, of losing his family. That's the principle that overrides self-preservation for him. What would have happened if he'd been in Ford's shoes - required to take up the role not of the sacrifice, but of the one who performed it, giving up one member of the family to save the others? Could he have done that?

...though that is wandering from the topic I was originally talking about, isn't it. Which was that yeah, Bill is, in his way, as fallible as anyone else despite his immense resources - which is gonna be a fun topic to get into when I get around to the post in this series about writing higher intelligences, but that's also not the point, which was that Ford was never going to go back to Bill the way Bill thought he was, because Bill's inability to understand other people's ability to do things that he can't is a serious blind spot for him. It's the thoughts he can't have that doom him (probably...hopefully, anyway...), fortunately for the rest of us.

[keiriiz]

General Chrollo Headcanons!

I will be making a separate post for my romantic/relationship headcanons of him! I’m a bit nervous because I know I’m in the minority with some of my views however I’m up for making a second part to this as this definitely isn’t all, or even expanding on certain things if anyone’s interest. My request box is always open ✨

✥ Chrollo has Autism Spectrum Disorder. Aside from his childhood trauma, this can also affect his ability to identify and express his emotions. He’s also a master of masking, but if he’s out and overwhelmed, he’s definitely stimming with his fingers when he places his hands in his pockets.

✥ Chrollo Lucilfer and “Boss” started off as two different identities. Being the Head of the Phantom Troupe was merely another role however over the years, Chrollo started to lose his individuality. He’s gotten lost in the idea of being a villain that being himself sometimes feels foreign, or he might not recognize it when that side of him comes out. It wasn’t just Sarasa that died that day, but a piece of himself as well.

✥ Chrollo himself is a bit childish. He gets a small glint of genuine joy in his eyes when he’s talking about something he’s passionate about. Whether it’s a book series, the Power Cleaners, or certain species of arachnid. Seeing that side of him truly is something as it only comes out when he’s completely comfortable.

✥ On the other hand of that not, when he’s upset this also leads to him being pretty impulsive and making rather rash decisions. Chrollo is a master strategist but that can fall apart when pushed enough.

✥ Chrollo hums to himself when there’s a toon he’s fond of playing. Most times it’s subconsciously and he doesn’t even catch himself doing so unless it’s pointed out to him.

✥ This man hates crowds of people. Not being able to keep track of what everyone’s doing, the heat, the smell- It’s completely awful to him. It’s more overwhelming than most heists and if not on a job he will avoid them at all costs.

✥ Chrollo is very comfortable in his gender as a cis man but often indulges in things that are stereotypically feminine. Make up, painting his nails, even sporting a bit of women’s garments into his every day style.

✥ The Troupe as a whole is a found family of sorts, but Chrollo holds a particular closeness with the original members. The Spider he was closest with overall being Pakunoda.

✥ Given what we know about Nen, I believe Chrollo was born as a natural conjuror. Though with him changing as a person and honing his Nen for those three years, his aura adapted to specialization.

✥ Chrollo’s ethnicity is Japanese Italian. A true wasian man if I do say so myself. Though I feel he’s a bit more in touch with his Japanese heritage.

✥ He returns a lot to Meteor City outside of his Troupe affairs. He’s somewhat famous there and you bet there’s kids running up to him, gently tugging at his coat asking him to tell them about his “adventures”. Chrollo of course does so on his free time, sharing stories of their heists though somewhat spinning it to paint them as heroes akin to the Power Cleaners.

✥ Chrollo doesn’t kill innocent people unless they’re accidentally caught in the crossfire or truly it’s necessary like how he used the crowd in his fight with Hisoka.

✥ Chrollo suffers from insomnia due to being plagued by night terrors though aside from that he can honestly fall asleep anywhere if tired enough. It doesn’t matter if it’s the hair ground of the forest or a nice bed, he’ll make due.

✥ Of course if given a bed, you will definitely catch this man hugging/cuddling his pillow. And he definitely prefers to be completely smothered in blankets and pillows to feel like he’s been held. (I’ll say it now, he’s a little spoon)

✥ Chrollo is definitely a light weight when it comes to alcohol. He’s buzzed on two cheap beers so he’s always careful to restrain himself in that regard.

✥ He is a S class NERD. Chrollo will shame movie or show adaptations for their inaccuracies to their book counterparts. If someone brings up an obscure topic that he just so happened to read about, he’s making his knowledge known.

✥ Pretty much everyone is aware of Chrollo’s love for pudding but I’m here to say his love for sweets is endless. Cakes, ice cream, candies, chocolate- he literally can’t get enough. And bet your ass he’s suffered a deal of tooth pain during his younger years because of it. Though he’s good on his dental hygiene as an adult.

✥ Chrollo can naturally be quite competitive. Whether he’s playing chess or just entertaining a Troupe member’s game of hang man. He’s always going for the win.

✥ When he’s not masking, Chrollo’s genuine laugh is truly adorable. On the rare occasion he might even snort. (He’ll always deny that he did though)

✥ Being from Meteor City, Chrollo is on the most accepting and least judgmental people when it comes to LGBTQ, race, religion/culture, mental disorders, or any physical differences. He didn’t even know something like being gay or trans was looking down on in certain places of the world.

I hope you guys appreciate these. I truly can ramble about this man all day if you really want ❤️

[howlsofbloodhounds]

Today while working I had a horror podcast on in the background (as one does) and I heard a story called Pen Pals and now I'm full of ideas for Nightmare's and Killer's dynamic post Killer escaping with Color.

First of all, the idea of Nightmare sending hundreds of blurry polaroids to Killer without ever attaching a message to them is fascinating. Especially once Killer puts them all together and figures out that he's in all of them (never as the only subject of the picture, but he's always there hidden somewhere).

I think it would be especially interesting because of Color's passion for photography. Like, this could definitely sour that quite a bit, and I can't help but think that that's exactly why Nightmare chose this medium.

Anyway, I think we need Nightmare to be just straight-up a horror story villain more often. I need that man to be scary, because in canon he's just kinda pathetic most of the time

We need more villianmare fr. My guy is literally a kidnapper and a labor trafficker and even possibly like a cult leader. He’s prime horror story villain material.

But ngl the idea that Nightmare would spend so much time stalking and fucking with Killer, probably learning how to use various cameras and lens and everything just to get at both Killer and Color is hilarious and also sad and pathetic and also creepy as fuck. That old man needs to get a life 🙏. (I can’t blame him though. If I fumbled killer that hard id be crashing out too.)

Imagine if it becomes like a whole thing where Color and other photographers work with police to identify types of lens, cameras, prototypes and where these things would’ve been found or bought to track down this mystery stalker.

Would Killer and anyone close to him have to be put on security watch or like, witness protection or something? And not only to protect him, but to protect everyone else but restricting any chance of nightmare and killer interacting or gaining access to eachother.

If they manage to piece together that it’s nightmare doing all this actually, would they even tell the omega equivalent of the police.

if nm got in he’d be a threat to everyone there and especially if he gets to killer, everyone would be in danger, but if they make it obvious they’re on to nm he’d either immediately attack when they don’t expect it or will adjust his tactics to not get caught.

if nm managed to get in without core’s knowledge they’d need evidence, and they’d have to figure out how nm got in.

(A traitor? A mistake in defense? Made a deal with a powerful ally? A spy or implant, regardless of if they’re aware of it or not? *stares at killer and cross*)

And if they went to police and the news got out, it’d cause a panic. people would be questioning core, any form of authority or council in the omega timeline. they’d be pointing fingers at who could’ve let nightmare in—killer, cross, dust and/or horror if they’re there too. they’d target color and the epic sanses for supporting “nightmare’s dog(s)” and convincing core to let them in. Possibly dream and swap as well.

It’d be a nice horror investigation drama. Can be in multiple escalating acts.

{ @stellocchia }