#and im not good enough at articulating my thoughts to even begin to know how to get them to look at this more critically

[two-calicos-in-a-trenchcoat]

Its...pretty fuckin scary how easily people can buy into propaganda when it's for something they WANT to be true

[iluvtreyparker]

Not Yet

-smut

-mentions of alcohol and being tipsy (while they both have a few beers I want to stress that they’re not drunk, I didn’t intend for them to be portrayed as drunk and that all sex was consensual!!!)

-this is my first fanfic idk how to format this

-im obsessed w that pic of Trey I hope u imagine that Trey during this cuz that’s what was on my mind

Every Monday, Wednesday, Friday was seeming to grow into an agonizing gift from the gods, or whoever was out there running the show. Waking up seemed to have purpose again; barely making it out the door on time shifted into early mornings crafting carefully coordinated outfits; messy, unwashed hair turned into delicately designed pig tails or braids. For the first time in a very long time, the idea of a class at 9 am was no longer a borderline debilitating task, but like a cup of coffee on a crisp fall morning. Stepping foot in the classroom was like that first sip of coffee passing down your throat and warming your whole body, freeing you from the morning’s chill. You stood before the door, prepping yourself for 50 minutes of pure distraction and inevitable and uncontrollable thoughts, sweet dreams of delusion of a man who you thought barely remembered your name. You sighed deeply. It was time. You pressed open the door and scanned the room for him, in the most natural looking way you could.

“Good morning!” He said with sincerity in his smile.

“Good morning..” you choked out, just a millisecond late enough to make yourself feel awkward about the interaction.

You thought to yourself, “Jesus Christ he was so sweet. He said hello to me. He probably says hello to everyone. But he said it to me today. He wanted you so badly didn’t he. No. No. You have to get yourself together, he’s a man in his 40’s and he is your professor, he’s a very kind man simply greeting you on this fine morning. But wouldn’t it be nice if he wanted me.”

You took your seat near the back of the small auditorium and got yourself settled in. Pretending you be on your laptop you peered above it, getting him in your view. He was still gathering himself together to begin class, as there were a few minutes remaining before the clock would strike 9. You looked upon him as he fiddled with papers. How did you get here? At this university? This major? This class? This specific section? And THIS professor? It didn’t matter, you were here. And there he was.

The way his salt and pepper stubble ruggedly graced his face, his very worn long sleeve t shirt that he must’ve been wearing since before you were out of middle school even, his messy hair undergoing the effects of aging, gently receding in a way that was beginning to leave a patch a the top but something about the way he rocked it pulled you to him a little bit more. He was just an older man, but damn there was something about him. It wasn’t just his looks that captivated you. It was the cadence with which he spoke, the way he could fill up the most casual, unprofessional sentence with an air of eloquence. The way he could make anything make sense. His mind was vast, woven with intricacies of which you felt you could probably never comprehend. And dammit was he funny, and so clever.

Class has started and you sat there, watching intently as he paced around the front of the room, talking about who knows what, God knows you weren’t listening, going on beautifully worded tangents every now and again. He mentioned something about a quiz but all you could think about was how he was in bed. Was he a hair grabber? What day was this quiz? He’s gotta be packing right? It’s on chapter 4? You wanted to put your hands on each side of his face, feeling his graying stubble and pull him in for a kiss, letting each other’s tongues tango and wander to wherever they ended up.

He was talking about something being wrong with the textbook, cursing the idiot writer and the dipshit who edited it and whatever numbskull allowed it to be published, but the articulation of his perfectly chosen words only made you think about what all he could do with his tongue, especially if he was between your thighs. Was he good? He had to be. You just sensed it. He would spread your thighs, look up at you with lust before going down on you, he would know just how to move his tongue, you knew it. And maybe he would start to tease you. He would stop and then begin rubbing your clit only to slide 2 fingers down and into you when you least expected. He would start pumping slowly, starting to curl his fingers up inside you, and holy fuck, when you thought it couldn’t get any better he brought his head down and started using his tongue again while inside you, Jesus Christ alfuckingmighty, and then he would- You felt the room start to blur out as if it were just you and him in an empty auditorium, your cheeks were growing warm and your stomach in a knot. Lord, you felt you needed him so badly. Never had a professor or person in general made you feel this way. It was carnal. Snap out of it. You were going too far again. If you thought anything else you might just have get up and uh.. take a… “bathroom break”… You would never really do that, but he had you so strung up you needed a release so badly. There were only 10 minutes left of class and you tried to ease your mind and maybe attempt to learn something. 10 long minutes of fighting off inappropriate thoughts and watching each minute in agony go by on the clock. But in time, it was over. You quickly grabbed all your belongings and shoved them in your bag with haste, you just wanted to get out of there because partly you felt bad about how far you let your mind wander. You made your way down the short length of auditorium stairs, getting closer to him with each step. He stood near the door, waving a slight goodbye or have a good day to the occasional student who prompted it. You kept your head down, you dreaded passing him, you felt like your thoughts were so loud that he had to have heard them. Like he knew every single thing you wanted him to do to you. Closer and closer you got, mere seconds feeling like hours the closer you got to his presence, you were almost wincing. So close to the door, you would make it. He was right there, you were coming up to him, just nearly about to pass him and get out of there. Until. You sensed a disturbance in your personal bubble. Dear god. He stopped you,

“Hey, Y/N?” He said.

Stunned, frozen in time almost. Are you fucking kidding? Out of all days. You didn’t know what to do, mind racing, you felt your cheeks growing increasingly warm and knew that by the time you turned to face him you would be brighter than the reddest tomato ever grown. You were feeling so warm that surely, your cheeks must be akin to a 3rd degree sunburn, they were so hot they had to have been blistering too, right? Most of the students had filed around you out of the class as the interaction ensued. It was just you two now.

“Uh.. yes..” you managed to spit out.

He stood with a concerned stature, one hand on his hip,

“Are you okay today? You seemed a little off in class today. I just noticed you seemed a little out of it and I thought I would check in.”

Jesus Christ. So he noticed you? He looked at you? He thought about… you?

“Oh! Uh. Yeah…” you trailed off, “… uh. Yeah! Yeah I’m doing okay. Just been a little distracted today is all. I just uh. Adhd. Forgot my medicine today. That’s it! Ha!”

Fucking facepalm. It wasn’t a lie about the ADHD, but you had taken your medicine, and that had in fact probably helped you focus so intently on thinking lewd thoughts about the tall man before you. But god, did you have to overshare like that? Even if it was a only slight stretch of the truth.

“Oh, okay, it happens, Y'know. Glad you’re good! I’ll see you on Wednesday,” he said with a reassuring smile.

“Yep! See you Wednesday!” You stumbled out the door and sped walked without any hesitation to your car. Your mind was blank the whole time until you opened the door and sat down behind the wheel.

God. He was sexy. The way his voice rolled out of his mouth was smooth like butter and it had your knees weak as you thought back on the words he had said to you. You drove home and immediately fell onto the bed and took a nice nap.

As the evening rolled around you started feeling increasingly bored, lonely, and antsy. This was the great combination of feelings that lead you right down the path of deciding to, on a Monday night, hit the bars. For once, you thought, you didn’t exactly want to get totally wasted, but just sit with a beer and be somewhere other than stuck in your room mulling over the woes of life. You’d rather be stuck in a bar, a place with atmosphere and distractions and beer, mulling over life. You had been to most of the bars on the square, and almost decided on going to your favorite one where they knew you, which seems like the best and obvious choice, but something told you otherwise. There was one bar, which you realized you had never been in. It was a sports bar, so this made sense. But tonight you thought, why not? Something new for a dull night? Who knows, maybe you’d meet somebody. Something pulled you to it. It was relatively empty, a few guys were watching the game, but otherwise empty. You sat down at the bar, showed your ID and what not and ordered a Coors Banquet. You sat for a while, almost forcing yourself to try and care about the game on tv. It was the Bengals and some other team who you didn’t really know or care about. You didn’t care about the Bengals either but you knew who they were.

Time passed and you stared, distracted, into your beverage, zoning out the world around you… until… the familiar feeling of someone sitting down right next to you broke your focus on the beer bottle.

“Banquet girl, huh?”

No way. It was him.

“Holy shit,” you said instinctually, “Professor…Parker…” you trailed off in disbelief.

“Uh, yeah,” you continued, “I am a coors banquet girl for sure. Used to be miller lite until I discovered ol banquet. Coors lite on the other hand… that’s just straight piss water”

Embarrassed about saying piss water to your professor, who was sitting next you you at a bar nonetheless, you tried not to bury your face deeply into your hands and scream a guttural scream.

“Piss water huh…?” he giggled, “I always kinda liked coors lite.” He smiled.

There was a brief, stagnant moment of silence, who knows how long it lasted but it was enough for him to decide to clear his throat and break it,

“So… I saw you sitting all alone, I just thought I’d come over here and say hi, hopefully an old guy like me won’t bother you too much, I can sit somewhere else though if you’d like. You just looked a little lonely staring at your beer like that.”

“Oh. Yeah. No, that's fine yeah, keep sitting here.”

This was mind blowing to say the least, it didn’t feel real. He was so close to you. He was so close you could reach out and put your arms around him, embracing his body heat. You tried not to dwell in order to hold a normal conversation, but he was so close you could smell the hint of Old Spice lingering on him. And with just that whiff you caught, it drove you mad. Of course he would wear Old Spice.

“So… I guess… What’re you up to being here tonight?” You asked, unable to think of anything to say.

“I just came here to watch the game. I’m not really all that interested but, Yknow, I guess I just wanted to get out. Really I should be asking you what YOU’RE up to, hitting the bars on a Monday night, miss ma’am.”

Miss ma’am??? What were you? A child or perhaps a naughty cat being scolded? That’s what that sounded like. But maybe you kind of liked it… especially coming from him.

You took a moment to breathe in, “Well, if you must know, miss ma’am here enjoys the fact that there are no covers at the bars on Monday nights,” you paused, “And I just like to sit and think with a beer I guess, and I don’t always want to do it alone in my room. Gets kinda sad after a while y’know”

“Oh, I know,” he responded.

There was another moment of silence filling up the space between you, but it felt more natural this time.

“So, The Cure?” He pointed at your shirt, “I love The Cure!”

“They’re my favorite band!” You say excitedly.

He looks at you with a jokingly cocky expression, “Yknow, I don’t mean to toot my own horn or anything, but after college I made a movie and guess who loved it? Robert Smith!”

“Holy shit???” You blurt out, “Robert Smith?? And?- hold on you- you made a goddamn movie?? Dude!”

As if he couldn’t get any hotter. He made a movie. That your own hero Robert Smith was allegedly into. He could’ve been lying for all you know, but you trusted every word he said. After a bit of beer consumption you were starting to feel more comfortable and natural talking to him, but in the back of your mind you still couldn’t quiet down the thoughts of everything you wanted to do with him.

“Ah it’s nothin,” he said

“Nothin? No!! You have to show me!”

“Oh don’t know about that… it’s a little inappropriate…”

Inappropriate? Trey Parker? God this pulled you in. You couldn’t believe he made a movie, and an allegedly inappropriate one? You had to see this. Now felt like the time, after a beer and a half you were starting to feel more bold. It was now or never. Before you thought about it to hard, the words were already leaving your lips,

“It may be bold and completely out of line, though I have drank this beverage a bit fast so I’m feeling willing to say more than I should, however, I feel inclined to ask… if you might want to come to my apartment and maybe… you could show me your movie…”

He looked stunned. But you could tell by the look behind his eyes. He had been around long enough to know. And thankfully, to your completely dismay, he replied with a smile,

“Sure…”

You stepped into his car, and the two of you drove back in mostly silence other than your telling directions back to your apartment. It didn’t feel real. You sat in his passenger seat, looking out the window, feeling warmth in your cheeks, wondering if maybe, since you had successfully lured him to your apartment, he might let you call him by his first name.

“Hey…” you decided to go for the question, nervous on how it would go over.

“Hm?” He said softly, looking over at you slightly but maintaining his focus on the road.

“How mad would you be if I um, if I referred you Trey tonight…? Yknow since…” you trailed off, “since y'know…”

“I don’t think I would be mad at all, Y/N.” He said we a reassuring smile.

You gave a quick tour of the place and then offered up the couch, you sat on one end, politely urging him to sit himself down with you. He placed himself on the other end of the couch at an almost awkward, but definitely safe distance.

“You could sit a little closer y’know.“ you said

“I suppose I could”

He moves a little closer but, still a safe difference. If there was ever a time to use your feminine wiles, you thought, it was now. You knew what you wanted but could barely believe you were in this position anyways.

“I don’t bite or nothin. I mean, I usually don’t anyways”

He lightly giggled, but you could sense the gears turning in his head, and you wondered if he had processed your attempt at flirting. He scooted over closer to you, legs almost touching.

The movie had begun playing, and you teased him about his outfit in the film, and the fact that it was called Orgazmo. But after a little while, something came over you, you just couldn’t hold it anymore. Before you knew it you felt your hand moving towards his thigh. Isn’t this usually a man’s move? You really didn’t care. It’s what you wanted and it felt right. In an instant you felt your palm press against the fabric. You looked up to him for reassurance and he gave you a look that let you know it was okay. Within seconds you felt your body rush with warmth as he leaned swiftly in, placing his hand on the side of your face, pulling you in a locking lips.

Holy fuck? Its happening? Play it cool.

His scruff scratches lightly against your skin. Fuck, he could give you rug burn if he wanted to, you’d let him. Your bodies moved together with the passion of the kiss, feeling around each other as his tongue danced against yours in your mouth. You felt a pressure on your chest as he reached in to grab your boobs, releasing a breathy sigh on impact into your mouth. You found your hand on his thigh again, grasping into it briefly, then running your hand up slowly until you reached his inner thigh. You stopped here for a moment before moving to the big bulge in his pants, rubbing and stroking it through the fabric and feeling it get even harder as you do so.

“Fuck,” he lets out a groan.

He hastily begins fiddling with his pants button pulling them down and off to expose his boxers. He grabs you and pulls you up on his lap, your legs straddled around him, and begins grinding against you, moving your hips against his lap and confined length which ached to be inside you.

You couldn’t take it anymore, you found yourself peeling your shorts off with vigor in order to feel even closer to him and the raging hard on rubbing against you. He sat you back down and pulled you in even harder, breathing heavily with each of his movements against you.

“Please, Trey,” you begged, “I need you to put it in”

“Not yet,” he smiled.

He lifted you up as he stood, and carried you off to your bedroom, laying you down on the bed hurriedly, but with care. With both of you on the bed he slid off your shirt, throwing it to the floor; then crawling up to you for a kiss, he places his hands firmly on your boobs. He moves down, grabbing one gently and putting it in his mouth, his tongue swirling around your nipple as he looks up at you with needy blue eyes. He begins to trail down, leaving a line of tender yet sloppy kisses down your torso as he approaches your underwear. It almost made you shiver, the closer he got.

“Is this okay? You’re okay with doing this?” He asked, looking up at you.

You nodded with a subtle bite of the lip, as you felt you couldn’t handle another second without him inside you.

“Are you sure?” He asked again.

“Yes. Please. I need you right now,” you wined in response.

He got off the bed and stood up, tearing off his shirt with haste and sliding off his boxers, allowing his hard length to fling out, giving it a few pumps as he approached the bed again. Back on the bed, he spreads your legs in preparation to take him. He leans in, taking his cock and rubbing the tip against your clit, teasing you, forcing you to wait even longer.

“You’re so wet for me, huh?” he said slyly and proudly as he continued to tease you.

“Please put it in,” you begged.

He grinned and you felt him enter, pushing himself in slowly, all the way, letting out a groan as he did so, and then waiting just a moment, fully inside you, before he began thrusting. He started slowly, getting you used to the length, quickly picking up the pace. You ran your hands down his chest, feeling all of his hair and the burgeoning sweat within it. He was pumping in and out of you rhythmically, absolutely wracking your brain, and with his thrusting came the occasional groan, or “ah” or “fuck.” He put his hand behind your head and leaned in to kiss you sloppily, letting lust take the two of you over.

All of a sudden he pulled out, just barely out of you, his tip almost touching your entrance. He watched the confusion on your face as he hadn’t yet gone back in, knowing how badly you wanted him back, he began to tease you.

“How badly do you want it?”

“So badly, please”

“Not yet,” he said, “I want to hear you beg.”

“Fuck. Please fuck me,” you pleaded.

He grinned and pushed back inside you with delicate force, putting his hands on side of your waist and pulling you into each thrust. He leaned in for a kiss and you took the opportunity to pull him in to you even closer, chests touching, feeling his warmth. He nestled his head in your neck, sucking lightly, enough to titillate but not leave a mark. You held tightly onto his back, trying to keep yourself from digging into it and scratching him, but maybe he would like that, you thought. As he thrusted, you bucked your hips against him, fucking him back. He let out a moan into your ear, unable to hold it in any longer. You could sense that rush flooding in, trying to overtake you, you tried to push back in order to keep yourself going longer but it was growing increasingly obvious that the time was nearing. You could feel within his recent movements that he was in a similar boat. He leaned in for one more kiss, letting out a moan, “Uugh, fuck,” into your mouth as he did so. With this you found yourself unable to hold it in.

“Trey, I’m gonna cum,” you moan, pulling him in as hard and close as you possibly could, bucking your hips hard, riding out the high as you felt your body nearly shaking against his.

He continued pumping, almost reaching that same limit himself, with your own release pushing him over the edge. He pulled out quickly with an “ah” pumping along his cock as he aimed it towards your tits. He kept pumping, letting out sounds of ecstasy and relief, spurting his cum all over your chest.

“Shit,” he exhaled, while flopping over and laying next to you. You noticed some of his cum had landed on his stomach, sitting lightly on his happy trail.

“Hey, you got a lil sumthin,” you said with a point and a smile.

“Oh…” he looked down at himself and then looked at you, remembering how much he had doused you, “Oh! I’ll get a towel!”

You told him where to find one and he soon returned wielding a washcloth, he gently cleaned you up before tossing the towel off the side of the bed, then laying back down beside you.

“So uh… does this warrant me getting some extra credit?” You joked.

He laughed lightly and responded, “Oh, after that? You just passed the class with flying colors.”

[jinlias]

kinktober day 9 - love making w lia

- SUBTLE mention of size kink bc as ive said before even though im a mere inch or two taller than lia my size kink go brr when i see her

“hi” you walk up to the living room, your suspecting of hearing the door being accurate. but lia doesn’t reciprocate the greeting, instead slowly wraps her arms around your waist and pecks your lips, resting her cheek on your shoulder right after. “long day?”

“kind of” she shrugs.

“well” you begin, gently pulling her away from you so you could look at her as you spoke “i actually have something i want to show you”

your girlfriend bites back a smile, yet lets you lead her to your room, where she finds countless red rose petals littered around your bed. she notices the bucket of ice with a rosé bottle in it on your bedside table.

“i didn’t know you had a bad day today, but i know you’ve been working nonstop, i thought you could use a bit of a break, even if you have to go back to the chaos tomorrow”

“baby..” she latches on to you, wrapping her arms around your neck and pecking your lips once, twice, three times before you deepen the kiss, your hands holding her face close to yours. “consider me- relaxed” she mumbles against your lips, pulling away slightly to look you in the eyes while she leads you by the hand towards the bed, sitting on it first

“you know what else would help me relax?” lia hooks her fingers on the waistband of your sweatpants. “your cock” her doe eyes look up at you, a slightly innocent smile on display.

you take her hand and trail it lower, until she could feel the toy right on your crotch. her eyes widen and her head tips to the side, she smiles maliciously while cupping it over the clothes. lia tries to tug your pants down, probably in hopes of blowing you. but you tangle your fingers in her hair, tugging so gently to make her look up at you.

you click your tongue against the roof of your mouth before you kiss her again, so soft, before whispering against her lips “tonight’s all about you, honey” with your hands guiding her and your lips caressing hers, she lays back. your hands gently discarding her clothing while grazing the sides of her body with the tips of your fingers.

you’ve gotten rid of your clothes as well. her back arches and small whimpers leave her lips when you press wet kisses along her torso. you pull back just enough to notice the growing patch on her cotton undies.

“please” her hands hold on to you, as if tugging and rushing you when you kept rubbing slow circles on her clit.

“i know baby, i’m sorry” you press three kisses to her lips, before lining the toy up with her hole. you’re so slow with your thrusts, or even trying to bottom out, not even in a teasing way, but to you lia feels so small and fragile, you always want to take your time with her, caressing her, kissing her.

you find a couple of fading hickeys across her body as you kiss your way up, but the way she wraps her arms around your neck doesn’t allow you to explore any more of her figure. it’s not something you’d complain about anyway, because soon she wraps her legs around your waist, her comparison one to a koala, clung to your body.

“i love you” the whisper grazes against her lips, the way she clings to you, her hand at this point holding your jaw, how her thumb rubs the skin of it and she whimpers into the kiss she presses on your lips. she can’t articulate many words right now but you know she feels the same way. you know she understands by the way you touch and hold her, the way you make her feel so good, that you’d always be there for her whether it’d be to comfort her or drive her getaway car. she’s always known you’re the one, but nights like these reassure her.

[noaura]

I'm kinda torn in the whole prolife/prochoice thing. At one hand I'd feel so heartbroken if I tore life away from my womb. Also if you can decide some lives at some stages aren't worth keeping alive and giving support to I'd feel the slippery slope that would slide into dehumanizing other groups of people who we at least for now, on general societal level, deem worth enough to let live and support. There's a reason MAID in Canada is so rancid rn.

At the other hand I just don't feel like a fetus of up to a certain couple weeks is the same as a baby. I just don't feel like it is the same, and the reason is how far the development is. Development reaches a point much faster than many realise where a baby of some kind is distinguishable... some women pee out their very small zygote and only later find out, I know of someone. She didn't commit negligence or accidental manslaughter, which legally she would have if indeed a personhood is assigned to a fertilised egg from day one.

I am not the anon ranting at you before, but as you seem to be in contact with some trad blogs, while having your opinion on abortion and I was curious if you had any thoughts you wanted to share further. If not and you don't want to, and this is obnoxious, I'm sorry and that's completely understandable and I'd just wish you a nice chicken wings dinner! Cheers

it's hard to articulate all of my thoughts into one post but i will try to

personally, i do believe that life begins at conception. as soon as the zygote implants into your uterine wall, which is when you become officially pregnant, that zygote now has personhood. there is not even scientific doubt about that - that is the literal moment life begins. but as a person who has experience living with someone who has a severe trisomy, and separate experience living with someone who has congenital diseases that require using another person's organ to stay alive, and as a woman who is currently pregnant, my thoughts are far more complex on whether or not being pregnant automatically means that you owe another person your life and organs to live off of

even though my pregnancy is very low risk and im extremely healthy, being pregnant just sucks. i genuinely think you have to have an intense disconnect with your body and sensations to believe otherwise. my belly button stretching to accommodate my growing belly is extremely painful. my abs ripping apart inside me to accommodate my belly is extremely painful. my nipples are tender constantly. even though i haven't gained any weight yet, the extra mass on the front of my torso is difficult to balance and keep my spine and hips neutral to keep good posture, so that my ass and core muscles don't atrophy. the nausea during the first 10 weeks was horrific. keeping my core strong is hard when there's a bowling ball sitting in the bottom of your torso. the ligaments in my hips and feet softening and spreading is painful. i have no stretch marks yet, but im dreading them. my tits ballooned up to a DDD on my tiny 5'2 frame, so none of my clothes fit right and i feel like a fucking whale. im scared to get loose skin and deflated boobs and a widened waist. im keeping my diet as healthy as possible but it's hard when every craving you have is not healthy at all. you are building every single cell of this person's body using your own nutrients, blood, flesh, etc and the baby WILL take what it needs from your literal bones and teeth if you're not giving it what it needs. and those are only physical symptoms ive listed. the mental ones, like preparing to give birth and parent a child, or even decorate a baby's room, or all the questions you're being asked constantly or shitty advice you're getting, are very taxing as well

so to insist that pregnancy is something totally passive that just happens to your body, with no side effects, even though yes women are designed to be lifegivers, seems delusive and misleading. it's very hard and i could never judge someone for not wanting to go through with any of that

on the other hand, i do agree that it's somewhat of a slippery slope. i don't think it's a good thing to kill elderly people or all disabled people. i don't think we should kill people just because they can't contribute to society in meaningful ways

but also, as a person who intimately aware of the way government funding and welfare systems work for profoundly disabled individuals, i can't help but be miffed at the idea of being fully aware that your child is going to live either on a vent their whole life, sucking up government cheese that could have went to like, idk a disabled veteran or something, and still going through with producing this person. the argument i get alot is "well people with down's syndrome can be grocery baggers! they can have relationships!" that's like, the top 5-10% of elite downies. and even then, they are suffering from seizures disorders, early onset dementia, and a variety of other things that make it impossible to live on their own or ever being capable of living a full life. the rest of them grow older to be fully dependent, barely functioning, and oftentimes have a lot of anger issues due to neurological and learning disabilities. can you imagine being bodied by a 300 pound angry grown man who quite LITERALLY has no concept of calming down? it fucking sucks

at the end of the day, i cannot tell anyone else what to do regarding their pregnancy or children even if i think they have dumbass opinions. i can only offer my own opinions based on experience and ideas

[jiamiuxin]

to your eternity review (anime spoilers!)

i just finished season 2 and wow. just wow

i feel like my initial thoughts about it were "pleasantly surprised" because it took a turn i didn't expect it to. at first i thought it going to be like a collection of short stories about the human experience as fushi collects more vessels. i was really happy that there was an overall story instead. i lowkey had to let it cook but regardless i'd still enjoyed it that way

i greatly appreciate the anime built fushi from the bottom up. remembering when he was just joann the wolf at the beginning who couldn't speak and just wandered the world after march died is crazy comparing him to after the battle at renril

i really just have endless praise for this anime. not hypersexual, has action, emotional, good ensemble, unique story. the pacing is overall good too. i think it's one of the few anime i'd genuinely feel comfortable recommending to non-anime watchers; it's not too over-the-top in any way but i think it still retains the anime charm

if i had to be nitpicky i got frustrated with fushi a few times. fool me once shame on u fool me twice shame on me type kinda thing. wah wah wah "fushi is basically 5 years old" like yeah he's inexperienced like a 5 y/o in some aspects but he can articulate and learn beyond a 5 y/o. fushi did some bs later on in the story when it had been like either decades or centuries and i was like yeah yall silent on this now huh. but im overall pleased with how he is by the end of season 2. feels crazy to even try to compare him to the beginning

a little analysis/commentary

parts of the humanity fushi experienced:

emotions

i think he experienced grief, pain, and anxiety the most

followed by depression and pressure (despair)

but hand in hand with joy and hope

desire to protect

disappointment, betrayal, frustration

as of season 2, he is learning romantic love

lifestyle

eating at the dinner table with loved ones

friendship

parent-child (booze man and pioran)

child-parent (march) ((even tho she's his mama technically LMFAO))

siblings (march and parona, gugu)

advancement of human civilization

religion

politics

i think the aspect that had the biggest impact on me is how fushi questions "why?"

why do people act this way? why are we here? why do things happen the way they do? this leads me into thinking about how things aren't always black and white; perhaps kahaku could be good to explain this? as a viewer, i generally liked kahaku, but no doubt his nokker was really annoying and troublesome to deal with, making him a gray area "good and bad" character. same with bon and how he initially only wanted to use fushi to become king. but in the end, they redeemed themselves. i dont know, but i also find myself thinking about when it comes to applying morals irl, there are always exceptions--probably more exceptions than situations that do follow our rules. but when is it considered "enough is enough"? is it right for some people to take a beating just so someone else can have character development?

rest of my thoughts (jumbled)

fushi kinda reminded me of jesus. in that he was kinda there to "save" or protect everyone and how he was immortal [and on the third day jesus rose again]

the church of bennett was eye twitch for me bc of the hypocrisy and it was a lil too real to irl bc even tho it wasn't tho it was an obvious ploy it wasnt an in ur face type thing. like it wasn't a major plot thing but it j mirrored irl too well LOL

i felt really bad for arctic king (nameless boy) in the beginning bc ik damn well if it was me i'd go insane after 5 years of being alone--or maybe he was lowkey mentally ill? optimism or denial? both?

the reunion was really heartwarming but when it's first revealed that the spirits follow fushi i couldn't help but wonder what the others who decided to move on thought of fushi

i hate that bitch hayase

the time jumps were kinda crazy but i was still there for it; besides someone said for an immortal being like fushi a century is nothing

every time the beholder spoke i was like o g a t a (golden kamuy)

[4dtk]

have this absolute shameless drabble of sugar daddy gojo that i wrote in between requests. my fingers have never typed so fast im sorry this is literally self-indulgent at this point ARJGJFFJ.

disclaimer i honestly can't see anyone calling gojo daddy but just for this fic..... ill allow it..... and also bc sugar daddy gojo is just always residing in my mind. did you see how he transferred 10 mil to mei mei!!!!! i will never shut the fuck up about that scene. pls spoil me <3

warnings: praise, public sex, sugar daddy/sugar baby relations, breeding kink, pet names

NSFW UNDER THE CUT, MINORS DNI

sugar daddy!gojo pushes you up against the window of the store, visible for everyone to see you getting fucked senseless. in the gucci store four floors up, it could work both ways. fortunate to be so high up, although people would be getting a treat if they happened to look up.

“you know what you’re doing, baby?” he grunts, hips rocking into your soaked pussy as the staff outside try to ignore the lewd noises coming from behind the curtains.

it was supposed to be a simple trip: get a dress for gojo’s event in a few weeks and get out. with a tight arm wrapped around his, you followed him around like a starstruck puppy, the edges of your lips curled up knowing he’d treat you a million times over if you just asked for it.

gojo wasn’t any different, either. sure, he’s had sugar babies in the past, but not quite like you who’s so easy to please and spoil, knowing you could never say no even if your life depended on it. with your desperate listing for the requirement of monetary assistance, gojo couldn’t resist taking up the offer.

he just hadn’t expected you to be so… pliant. you had taken it like a good little bitch, too, moaning out for everyone to hear because you liked it like that.

“you’re taking my cock so well, princess,” gojo muttered out, lips nibbling on your ear as he continued to pound you. his grin that you feel against your skin plagues your mind, wanting nothing more than to see how he enjoys ruining you.

the catchy, upbeat pop song playing above you seemed to provide some rhythm, the sultry lyrics fuelling you further.

"so needy that i had to buy out the whole store for an hour, huh?" the male slows his pace, delivering deep thrusts into your cunt with the precision of an expert.

all you can reply are in little pants, sentences incoherent from how deep his cock is in you.

"i don't even think an hour is enough to satisfy my pretty little girl, isn't that right?" gojo picks up the speed again, and you're brought back to the many times he's fucked over his counter, washing machine. to the times where he's eaten you out on his office table and in his sheets of his king-sized.

and now, you've got another memory locked away for nights full of loneliness and soaked underwear when gojo's just too busy for you.

a tongue to your nipples and a hand to your clit makes you choke out a moan, writhing against the glass just to feel more of gojo, more of his cock and more of his lips on your neck.

you're struggling to keep yourself up, finding the right time in between muffled moans and whimpers to ask for one more wish.

"daddy... p-please, i wanna see your-"

"what, baby? repeat it for me." goddamn, the man had no problem articulating his words, how much had he fucked you already?

clearly not enough if you're still able to speak.

"w-wanna see your face when you fuck me deep, daddy!"

your wish is taken away when you're already creaming all over gojo as your hot breath creates fog on the glass in a silent scream.

"aw, you're cumming so hard baby~ you didn't even get to see me yet," he coos, enjoying the gush of your juices that coat his dick and your thighs. everything feels sticky and dirty, but you don't hesitate to beg for one more fuck with your eyes.

gojo catches your drift immediately, hips twitching from the idea of pumping you full of his cum. after all, he hasn't come yet.

he grunts at the time with a quick glance to the clock above your head. without wasting any more time, he flips you over, the restraint to cum slowly reaching its limit with your lolling tongue and fucked-out face.

the male doesn't bother to hide the deep groan that rips from his throat when he drags his dick along your folds, strings of both your juices stretching out in a way that hypnotises gojo.

"n-need your cock, daddy! please!" you whine, grinding your hips against the tip to make sure gojo knows of your desperation. that he's the only one to fuck you so good that no one else can satisfy you.

he smiles knowingly before he sinks into you.

gojo knows that he's the only one that can make you feel this way as he picks up the tempo, hitting spots in you that you didn't know was physically possible.

gojo knows that he's the only one you call daddy shamelessly as he writes off his card to help you in your student debts and the sparkly dress you've been eyeing.

he could throw you away the second you're done with university, the second the media's off his ass about his love life but, the sweet, sweet moans spilling from your lips pull him back in every single time, eager to hear it for as long as your bank's empty and his is piled up with money.

"more! satoru, more, fuuuck..." you groan, shying away from the striking blues of his eyes the more he drinks in your current state.

he's barely holding on, not even minding the first name you called him. the short skirt he'd given you flipped up makes him go crazy, your panties moved to the side to receive the dressing room quickie you always wanted.

"you're so de..eep daddy! i need all your c-cum please...!" it's a mix between a whimper and a whine.

"yeah? 'course i am, baby. your pussy is sucking me in all the w-way," gojo's hips stutters at how you squirm in his tight grasp, locking eyes with him as yours fill with want. your pussy is throbbing, stretched out so much that you don't register the thumb playing with your clit.

"s' too much...! s' too much, d-daddy!"

"you're a good girl, aren't you?" the way you nod is pathetic, eyebrows knitted from being stuffed so full.

"pretty little thing- fuuck..." gojo's losing control himself, the way his balls slaps against your cunt resonates around the small space and nothing feels better than being inches deep in you.

you're a babbling mess by then, unable to even scream out as you cream his cock. with head thrown back, you're left frozen for a second as the orgasm washes over you and a violent shudders goes through your thighs.

"daddy has so much, s-shit- cum for you, doll," it isn't long before the other comes undone, a groan escaping his lips before he shoots his load deep into you.

your pussy is stained white from all the cum he's giving you, gasping from how much gojo is leaking into you.

"thank y-you, satoru..." you trembling has affected your voice, too, burying your head into gojo's neck while your body shivers from sensitivity.

"take all of it, baby," gojo whispers, the hand near your middle moves instantly to finger his cum back into you, fixing back your underwear over your pussy.

a cheeky giggle leaves your mouth as you untangle yourself from the embrace, welcoming a kiss from the man as he slowly begins to clean up himself.

"have you chosen a dress yet, sir?"

gojo's smile is mischievous, not missing the way your face flushes at having to face the embarrassed staff outside.

"we'll take everything, thanks," his eyes never leave you as he helps you off the changing room chair, tugging your body flush to his before leaving you with one more hungry kiss.

"you did so well for daddy, doll. i may just have to treat you tonight since you have a day off university tomorrow..."

even if it wasn't in the contract, gojo loved to spoil you, admiring your mettle when it comes to material items. although...

"you know what i mean," it's enchanting, the way his voice travels like silk, "i'll call in sick for work tomorrow, yeah?"

your mind goes to mush at what tonight might entail, losing all train of coherence when his hushed whisper of my baby's so cute reaches your ear.

in a second you're out of there, hand twined with his while you remain giddy with the thought of getting used by gojo until you reach your limit.

[almostnugget]

Here Lies...

Reggie x Ghost!Reader

It’s on an off day that you find Reggie on the beach, quieter—more mournful—than you’ve ever seen him. You propose an unusual solution.

Warnings: vague mentions and talk of death/dying, angst, talk about inadequate parents, etc. also the word ‘hell’ is written Once? (twice now ig)

A/N: y’all seemed into this idea so im Delivering. had the idea awhile ago when i read a few fics about reggie dying first and now I’ve actually...dOne something with it. so here! hope you enjoy!

Reggie was acting strange. You aren’t sure when you noticed, how you noticed, but he was. There was a certain quietness to him, something like that wasn't normal. You wanted to think nothing of it, but when you found the others in the studio without him, you couldn't help but wonder.

Alex and Luke seemed hesitant to tell you where he'd gone, as if they knew what you had already suspected and didn't want to tell you. Alex caved—despite Luke's protests.

It feels weird to be back at the beach, your hands laying stagnant at your side as you spot the familiar figure sitting in the sand.

Your better judgement tells you to leave. You never bothered to involve yourself like this before, there's no reason to do it now. Yet, you still walk over and settle down in the sand beside him.

Neither of you talk. You don’t know what to say if you wanted to, instead just absentmindedly pulling at the strings of your jeans and trying not to nervously bite at your nails.

You’re still looking out at the ocean, listening to the dull chatter of passersby and the crashing waves, when Reggie finally speaks.

"Did they tell you I died first?"

Your breath almost catches in your throat. Instead, you don’t reply, only sending him a quick glance. Nothing could quite articulate what went through your mind when he said that. It never quite occurred to you that one of the boys had to go first, and it never occurred to you that it would've been Reggie.

"In the ambulance," he continues, fiddling with his own hands. It's a nervous habit of his that you’ve noticed before, but only rarely seen. "I can still remember it." He lets out a shaky breath and you fight the urge to frown. "All of it."

When he doesn't speak again, you both fall back into silence. You’ve never been good at this. Comforting people isn't your forte, you can hardly comfort yourself. Hell, maybe Reggie doesn't even want that. He wanted to be alone, probably, and you forced your way here.

Your words fall out before you can stop them.

"I don't," you breathe, still looking out at the ocean as your eyes trail over the horizon. "I remember everything that led up to it. But I don’t actually remember how it...felt.” You instinctively wince as you remember the cold water against your skin, but you press on. “I remember some of the dark room, but then...I was just back on the beach.”

Reggie watches you and the way you continue to tug at the frayed strings of your jeans. You both fall into silence again. It's like neither of you really knows what to say, what you want to say, what you need to say.

You’re not sure when you speak up again, how long after, but you do. “Have...have you seen it? Your grave?" You ask tentatively, looking over at the ghost beside you. Reggie's looking forward when he shakes his head. You nod a little, biting your tongue before letting out a sigh. "I've seen mine."

That catches his attention as he looks over, his thoughtful expression switching to one of concern. "Y-you have?" You nod again. He stammers a little before blowing out a heavy sigh.

You push herself to your feet, Reggie watching as you does so. "Come on," you say finally, holding a hand out. Reggie's gaze flickers from you to you outstretched hand and there's a moment before he takes it, allowing you to pull him to his feet.

When you get to the cemetery, it's fortunately pretty empty. Reggie looks around apprehensively, but he still follows you as you walks. It's clear you’ve been here more than once.

Your pace slows, the pair of you coming to a stop in front of a grave at the end of a long row. The tombstone isn't particularly ornate, but it isn't overwhelmingly plain either.

"Tada," you say mirthlessly, removing your hands from your jacket pockets to gesture toward the rock. You go to move, before stopping. "Think it's disrespectful to step on your own grave?"

Reggie lets out a weak laugh that makes you feel marginally better about the entire ordeal. You smile sorrowfully before kneeling down in front of your own tombstone, ignoring the faint chill that runs down your spine when you do.

He notices that there isn't much on the stone to begin with as you trail your hand over the etchings: Y/N L/N. It's painfully simple, even more so by the muddied years below your name, worn at with time.

"That's all?" Reggie asks, a certain degree of hesitance to his voice. "No...quote?" You smile a little as you glance up at him.

"No quote," you confirm. "I was a foster kid, Reg. Not much to say when you get bounced around a lot." Your hand trails over your last name. "This is all I've got from my parents."

He swallows thickly, unsure what to say now. It feels like he has to apologize somehow. But you lean away from your tombstone and push yourself to stand, the ghost of a smile on your face.

"Don't feel bad, I've had a while to get used to it," you assure, shrugging a little. Reggie doesn't reply, but you can tell he's desperately trying to think of something to say. "Reg, it's okay," you repeat, stepping closer and setting your hands on his arms. Your hands eventually fall and you look out at the rest of the cemetery. "Do...do you wanna see yours?"

Reggie's eyes widen a little. "I-It's here?"

You nod, moving to stand beside him. You point out a grave several rows away, but he can see it—feel it—even from here. "I saw it the last time I was here," you admit, frowning a little. "Small world, huh?"

"Yeah," he says lowly. There's apprehension before he starts moving towards it, but he does nonetheless. You follow him. You try to create distance now and then, but he looks back at you every time you do like he doesn't want to be alone, so you stop.

When the two of you get to his grave, you almost wince as Reggie stares upon his very own tombstone. You can't remember dying, but you can remember seeing your grave. You imagine it feels similar.

Reggie kneels down in front of the tombstone, eyes carefully reading the engravings; Reginald Peters, 1978 - 1995, Loving Son. The grass is a little overgrown at the bottom, but it's all still legible.

He lets out a shaky breath, you carefully watching him in case this turns out to be a bad idea. Neither of you speak for what feels like a long while, but Reggie doesn't seem eager to leave, so you hope it's okay.

Biting your tongue, you look around before settling on an idea. "I'll be right back," you state, causing Reggie to look away from his tombstone. He can't even argue as you start to walk away, he can only watch with a frown. He wanted to be alone before, before all of this, but not now.

Fortunately, you do come back like you promised. Your hands are behind your back as Reggie glances up. You fidget uncomfortably before bending down and setting some flowers in front of the stone.

“It looked empty," you admit softly, shrugging a little when Reggie looks away from the flowers and back at you.

A faint smile tugs at his lips. "Where'd you get those?"

"There's a stall, nearby. I might've...stolen them," you confess, wrinkling your nose as Reggie lets out a laugh. Of course you did. The gesture won't be forgotten though. "Are you...okay?"

He looks back at the grave, wondering that himself. However, there's something cathartic about seeing his grave like this. It finalizes everything, sure, but it puts things in perspective.

Reggie stands up, you worriedly watching him. He doesn't speak, only moving back toward a nearby bench and taking a seat. You tentatively follow, settling beside him, your back pressed against the opposite arm as you cross your legs.

“Reggie?" You call softly. He doesn't think he's ever heard anyone say his name that softly. He looks over, taking in the expression on your face and the way your brows furrow. "I...I can leave you alone?"

Instead, he shakes his head. You frown a little, letting your hands fall into your lap as you continue to watch him and the way he looks out at the rest of the cemetery.

Reggie lets out a shaky breath. "It's okay," he finally says, you sitting up. He fights himself on his next words, but they come out regardless. "Good to know my parents cared enough to...you know," he gestures weakly to the tombstone.

"Oh, Reggie," you sigh, scooting closer until your knees brush against him. He looks over. "Just because your parents fought doesn't mean they didn't love you."

“Felt like it sometimes," he admits softly, you frowning further.

“I'm sorry you felt like that," you settle on, but it's clear you’re not done. "But them fighting? It's not your fault." He doesn't know how you know what to say next, but you do. "Dying wasn't either." He looks momentarily surprised, wondering how you could've possibly guessed. You shrug, as if continuing to read his mind. "It wasn't hard to guess."

"Yeah, Luke and Alex said that too," he responds with a sigh, shoulders falling as he lets his hand rest against the arm of the bench.

“I don't say this often, and I won't, but they're right." He looks back at you, noticing the serious look on your face. Neither of you are hardly ever serious, at least not like this. "It's really not your fault, any of it." There's a pause, neither one saying anything before you begin to smile. "I've got an idea," you say excitedly, hitting Reggie in the leg before getting to your feet.

"Wait, what are you doing?" Reggie asks quickly, furrowing his brows.

“I think you deserve a eulogy," you admit, with a deep breath.

Reggie's confusion furthers. "But...it's not my funeral?"

You let out a light laugh, stepping back towards his spot on the bench as he cranes his neck to look up at you. "But you are a ghost,” you whisper, leaning in close.

"Oh."

You step back and straighten up. "So! You'll be getting a eulogy by yours truly! This is a once-in-an-afterlifetime opportunity, so prepare yourself!"

Reggie can't help but smile now as he sits up, almost on the edge of his seat now. "I'm ready!"

“If this gives you an ego? I will be taking it all back," you warn him, but his smile doesn't falter. He only nods, bouncing his legs a little in excitement. You sigh, shaking your hands loose and clearing your throat. "Reginald Peters, better known as Reggie, was...an incredible person. He was, apparently, a loving son, but he was more than that."

You’re too busy trying to choose the proper words to even notice the way Reggie's face seems to soften as you speak.

"Reggie was talented. He could shred on the bass—"

"—and the banjo!"

You chuckle softly. "And the banjo. His country songs were pretty good too." Reggie watches the way you tug at your sleeves, a soft smile on his face. "More than that, he— he was one of the nicest and funniest people I've ever met. Anyone was lucky to meet him, but they were even luckier to have him in their life."

You carefully avoid his gaze, as if finding your own words too much, but Reggie can only continue to watch you with a fond expression that you don’t even notice.

"But, none of that really matters because Reginald Sinclair isn't someone you can ever forget. His memory and his soul will forever live on. ...Not just because he's currently a ghost in a band in LA or anything like that."

You both laugh a little as you finish, stepping back up to settle beside him on the bench. Your eyes cast back out toward the cemetery as you do, carefully missing the gaze Reggie fits you with.

"That would've been better if I actually wrote something, but—" you start, wrinkling your nose as you already begin to recall everything you said a moment ago.

"Thanks," Reggie cuts you off. When you look at him, you meet his eyes this time and you both seem to go quiet. You hadn't meant to sit so close, but now you can feel his breath on your face as your breath hitches.

"Yeah, well..." you trail off, voice barely above a whisper. Biting your tongue, you get to your feet before anything can happen—not that it would, of course. "So, do you wanna head back or...?"

"Wait! What about you?" He asks, shooting to his feet. Your brows furrow.

"What about me?"

“Your eulogy," he supplies and you’re quick to realize he's prepared to give you one. The thought alone makes your face heat up. Reggie saying nice things about you? You’re not sure you could handle it.

You shake your head. "No, no, we don't have to do any of that," you insist with a forced chuckle, ducking your head to walk past him.

He's quick to rush after you. "C'mon—"

"We can do it another time," you settle, nearing the exit of the cemetery. Your words slow Reggie in his tracks.

"Right, next time," he mutters, prompting you to turn back. He suddenly looks crestfallen and you waste no time in pressing toward him.

“Yeah, like we can come back?"

"Yeah..." Reggie trails off, your eyes falling to watch as he plays with his hands like he does when he's nervous.

“Reggie?"

He squeezes his eyes shut, letting out a sigh. "The guys and I— We have to cross over," he admits slowly, eyes carefully watching the ghost in front of him.

Your face seems to fall. "Oh."

The dots in your head seem to connect. No wonder he’d been feeling so particularly...low today, of all days. He hasn’t the time for much else.

"We don't want to!" Reggie says quickly, not wanting you to get any kind of wrong idea. "We really don't want to, but—"

“Caleb's stamp, right?" You ask, quirking a brow. "Wasn't just a stamp, was it?" Reggie frowns, shaking his head. "Yeah, I figured as much." You almost want to roll your eyes as you pivot on your heels to begin walking again.

“It's either that or join his house band for eternity or stop existing, so!" He adds on, hurrying after you. His shoulders fall. "Not like we can cross over."

“Why not?" You question after what feels like a long moment of silence. Reggie watches you and the way you choose to keep your eyes ahead instead of sparing him a glance.

"We might have to play at the Orpheum."

“Of course," you almost scoff, and it nearly makes Reggie wince. He assumes you’re mad at him or something akin to that, but you suddenly stop. "We'll figure something out," you then say, crossing your arms over chest and actually turning to look at him now.

“Are ghosts even allowed in the Orpheum?"

“Doesn't matter, you guys are gonna perform there one way or another. Better than not existing at all, right?" It's like that was supposed to be a joke as you force a smile, but it doesn't quite reach your eyes. You then bump your shoulder against his in an attempt to dissipate the tension you inadvertently created.

You didn't mean to be upset, to make Reggie feel like you were mad at him, instead of for him—maybe for yourself too, as selfish as that sounds. But you can't ignore the tightness in you chest either when you think of losing someone you never even had. All you can do is push it down.

It's with that fading tightness that you start walking again, Reggie lingering back. He didn't want this to happen, any of it. He meant what he had said, they really didn't want to cross over. As you glance back, he knows it to be even more true.

You usher him to follow, your expression subtly softening, and it's with a deep breath that he follows after you.

[businessbois]

hello blue :D i would like to know everything you would like to tell me about your favourite fic you've written

lyssie shrugofgod weirdly-enough this is the kindest thing ever i hope you're ready for vaguely comprehensible ranting.

okay so i couldn't choose between two fics "once i called you brother" and "the art and (mine)craft of war" because i could talk forever about both, but im gonna talk about "once i called you brother" because its the less popular one

heres the link :)

so i basically wrote this fic because i thought that the song "the plagues" from prince of egypt (or at least the opening lines) were incredibly perfect for c!tommy and c!techno and it was a shame that no one did an animatic for it yet. i cannot draw so i just wrote a fic for it.

once i called you brother once i thought the chance to make you laugh was all i ever wanted

is that literally not tommy with techno though?

and then the rest of the song can read as like doomsday or november 16th, you know, them arguing about selfishness and betrayal and all that. the song fucking slaps.

but anyways the fic itself? the opening is inspired by how like, if you didn't know who technoblade was during the beginning of the smp, he would just be this mysterious figure of legend that tommy, wilbur, or dream occasionally talked about. it hit me during the dream v technoblade duel stuff that since techno had never been on the smp before, he was just this invisible dude with a huge reputation and that was so cool to me.

"Alrighty, I've been here before, right?"

"Listen, Techn—Dream..."

these are quotes from tommy that i quoted in the fic. i used to do this a lot, just stick quotes with no context into fics because i assumed everyone had the same precise memory of everything that went on the smp that i did. the first one is referring to tommy being surrounded by people outside the community house and "i've been here before" is him remembering a similar scenario on smpearth and therefore technoblade. the second is when he accidentally calls dream techno (about 30 seconds into this comp) again adding to techno's thing of being just this widely alluded to figure.

"Who do you think will win? My bets on our boy, Dream, but feel free to be wrong."

Niki stays quiet, a small frown on her face.

i feel bad for cutting niki absolutely owning dream with "well, techno's my friend" but it simply couldnt stay in for fic purposes

waking up to a frantic Bitzel muttering about hypothermia and something heavy and red covering his shivering frame.

smpearth is canon because i Want it to be canon and in my canon there's a moment where tommy passes out in the middle of a fight and techno brings him back to business bay wrapped up in his cape because he's technosoft and all their fighting is more like play fighting anyways

Tommy knows that love is earned. That if he does well in some Championships, then his place in the family is secured.

this is inspired by the bet that wilbur and tommy had in like mcc8 that if they placed fifth or higher tommy could be in sbi. in tommy's pov it becomes, "you have to earn your place in this family."

“Because I’m not the vice president.”

this is from one of his exile streams where he's talking to dream about why people won't visit him anymore

Tommy is 10 and too big for his boots.

this section is inspired by tommy's story of how he met techno as told in this storytime.

there is something that flickers at the back of his mind when the ratty zombie child calls him The Blade.

i think it's so incredibly special that everybody calls techno The Blade but like,, that's tommy's nickname for him. theres this moment where tommy's talking about giving techno a nickname and techno's like "you call me The Blade!' again, everybody calls techno The Blade, but he tells tommy "you call me The Blade." like i don't know how to articulate this but, that's tommy's nickname for him. they're brothers.

Tommy's been to war with soft, pale blues.

ae reference because again, smpearth is canon cuz i said

Tommy is 13 and standing over the remains of Business Bay's storage area.

this is an smpearth thing. wisp and vop did a whole grief of business bay, it was very dramatic very tragic. the thing with techno coming to business bay to talk to tommy is from this comic and i hold this headcanon close to my heart.

"Tommy, if anyone gives you trouble—and I mean serious trouble, not the kind we have—you tell me.”

Tommy hears an echo of similar words from the man who just burnt down everything he’s worked for.

"Tommy, anyone that touches you fucks with me... I will kill Techno if it takes me all of my life to prepare for it, you understand me?"

im so proud of this parallel between wisp and techno man you have no clue. okay, so like i said before, the ae versus bb thing in my head is very much like play fighting. sometimes it gets serious like the scenario which is happening in the fic where things actually get destroyed. that's because they're stubborn teenaged boys and conflicts can go from fun to actual trouble real quick. these "similar words" and the following quote are references to one of my favorite wisp moments ever. wisp, for anyone unclear on smpearth backstory, was a part of business bay before he betrayed them for the antarctic empire. he was also the one who burnt down the storage area which is why tommy's remembering this quote so bitterly.

Tommy rolls his eyes. "I pinky promise, Technoblade." He sticks out his little finger like a challenge.

the pinky promising is Canon from like the post-exile streams i think and i headcanon it as something tommy just does with people

and so this is to put context to the "using techno" thing. because i've always kinda viewed as like calling in a friend (or a big brot—[gunshot]) in for help so this part of the fic gives it the background to be like that

But then, Tommy is 16 and standing in a cataclysm, once again watching everything he’s worked for get destroyed by a man who swore to protect him.

this line solidifies that parallel to wisp where techno made a similar promise to protect tommy and now he's destroying everything tommy's worked for (business bay in wisp's case, lmanburg in techno's case) im very proud of this parallel.

His tall brown-haired friend from competitions past

wilbur of course, the competitions past being mcm

He collects titles like music discs

i asked my friend for things that people collect and they said "records" and i said "wait—"

Technoblade is 17 and he has no family. He has a friend who makes sure he sleeps. He has a friend who creates bridges and mischief. He has a bug that he still hasn't squashed.

i've always loved the idea of sbi becoming this little found family on smpearth. like they're not super lovely dovey "we're like brothers" but they're so fond of each other and they hang out when they're not pretending to be at war. and so theres still that room to say that they're not family, but like they totally are

Bright blue eyes beg him for some entertainment, so Techno sighs and grabs The Complete Works of William Shakespeare off the shelf.

this headcanon that techno used to read them shakespeare comes from wilbur's offhand comment asking techno to recite king lear to them

Wilbur's planted himself at Techno's side for the duration of the finale, something that he's grateful for. Wilbur's always been his person to lean on for things like this.

inspired by i think wilbur saying that he was techno's like designated extrovert during mcc's and i really love that aspect of their relationship. because techno is looked at as "the older brother" in so many ways, but like in this way, when wilbur's guiding him through social situations and supporting him, he gets to be wilbur soot's little brother.

Technoblade never says I love you, but he reads his baby brother The Twelfth Night instead of Hamlet and ends Theseus' tale after the Minotaur.

this was one of the first things i had written for this fic. so obviously hamlet is a tragedy while the twelfth night is a rocking good time. so like going back to that shakespeare headcanon but techno protecting tommy in the little ways. the theseus part is inspired by me not knowing the rest of theseus' story after he gets home and his dad jumps into the ocean. like the exile and death stuff i didn't hear about until the dsmp so that's where that came from. techno, even though it kind of goes against who he is, leaving theseus' story as a victory where the hero slays the monster, just to give his little brother something with a happy ending

"Do you want to be a hero, Tommy? THEN DIE LIKE ONE!"

i did always think this could be seen as like "well if you want to be a hero, then you can die like one" and leaving off the unspoken "but if you don't want to be--if you choose not to be, then you get to live. so don't be a hero. please don't be a hero." and theres like that little tragedy there that i really love in techno and tommy's relationship. like, i love you, you love me, all i ever wanted was to make you laugh, but we don't speak the same language. we don't understand each other. everything you are is against everything i stand for. so yeah bedrock bros feels. i wrote this long before exile and all that so its even more complicated now gosh.

[ncssian]

A Favor: Part Two

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

a/n: im so sorry i know i need to start editing these

***

Nesta stands in her guest room at Cassian’s cabin, hands on her hips as she eyes the garbage bags full of things she managed to salvage from her old apartment. 

All of her rain-soaked clothes sit in two huge bags, waiting to go through the laundry, while her books are carefully spread out on the windowsill, floor, and anywhere they can catch enough sunlight to dry their pages. Nesta almost cried when she saw that Lorene had salvaged her few adult coloring books and the art supplies to go with them, still dry. 

For a brief moment, she’s glad she didn’t buy any physical copies of her textbooks this year— the loss of that money would be too much to bear.

A brief knock sounds at her door, and Nesta spins to find Cassian standing there, laundry basket in hand. “I can take your clothes down for you if you want,” he offers, lifting his own basket with a hand. 

Nesta’s lips tighten. He wants to do her laundry with his. Their laundry will get cleaned together. Her underwear will get tangled up with his. 

Cassian’s brow furrows. “Nesta?”

This is her new reality now. She’ll have to accept it at one point or another. 

“We can do separate loads if you want,” Cassian adds. “Feyre told me you— well, she said you might be more uncomfortable with some things than others. It’s totally fine if you don’t want your clothes mixing—”

“No.” Nesta finally snaps out of it. “I don’t care about the laundry. My clothes are right here.”

 Because she has a sneaking suspicion she might be being unintentionally bitchy again, Nesta helps Cassian drag her bags of drenched clothes downstairs. 

“I feel sort of bad for bullying you into this deal,” Cassian rambles as he dumps clothes into the washer. “Which is why I need you to know you can enforce whatever rules and boundaries you want while you’re here. If you’d prefer I never speak to you for the rest of your time here, I can manage that, too.”

Nesta looks at him with a hint of disbelief. Sometimes he says the oddest things. “I don’t want you to never speak to me again.”

There’s relief in his sagging shoulders. “That’s good,” he says as he pours out detergent. “I mean, I was a little worried you were against this so much because you hated me, but you don’t know me enough to hate me, do you?”

Hate. Nesta rolls the word over her tongue, tastes the hard corners of it, and decides it doesn’t fit for Cassian. Not even close. She wonders how to articulate this to Cassian.

She settles on: “You seem nice enough. Obviously, since you’re letting me live in your luxury mountain cabin for free. But I don’t want to set any boundaries while I’m here. You shouldn’t have to change your normal lifestyle just for a guest. Do whatever you want; it’s your place.”

Cassian presses a button and the rumble of the washing machine begins. “I want you to be comfortable,” he says, turning to face her completely. “Whatever you need, Nesta, seriously.”

For starters, it would make Nesta comfortable if he didn’t say her name like that. His earnestness makes her skin itch, but she’s not going to tell him that. 

Instead, she bravely lifts her chin. “I’ve been pushed so far out of my comfort zone that I don’t think I know how to find my way back.” The honest truth. “At this point, you might as well keep me out here.”

Cassian’s eyes narrow. “If you don’t tell me what things bother you, I’ll have to find them out for myself, you know.” It sounds like a challenge.

“Go ahead,” Nesta deadpans. She doesn’t know what Feyre’s told him about her, but contrary to popular belief, Nesta isn’t a glass doll. Sensitive, high maintenance, yes, but fragile? Never.

She turns on her heel and leaves Cassian in the laundry room, determined not to let her circumstances get the better of her while she stays here.

***

Cassian takes everything back. He’s obsessed. 

He can’t pinpoint the exact moment, how or when or why he decided he likes Nesta. Maybe it was an amalgamation of different things, but by the time she settles onto his living room couch with a box of takeout Thai food, it’s safe to say he’s fascinated.

She’s nothing like how Feyre talks about her. She’s barely anything like the woman he met at the dinner party two years ago. The problem is, Cassian hasn’t pinpointed what she’s like. There’s still too many walls in place, but here, as she slurps noodles unabashedly while watching TV with an intense fixation, she’s softer than he’s ever seen her. Maybe it’s because she doesn’t feel the need to defend herself to a sitcom; there’s no self-consciousness, only a deep focus on the Community episode they’re currently watching.

Cassian splits his focus between offering commentary in an attempt to make Nesta laugh and observing her reactions from the corner of his eyes. A few things he’s noticed so far: 1) Her cheeks bulge like a squirrel’s when they’re full of food; she seems to have no shame about this. 2) She isn’t inclined to respond to Cassian when he makes comments on the show, but the corners of her mouth tilting up imply that she likes it anyway. 3) She watches sitcoms like she’s studying for a final exam about them. 

When the episode finally ends, she turns to him and glances at his hands. “Are you going to eat that?” she says. 

Cassian glances down at his untouched container of food, a little surprised, but hands it over to her without a fight. He can’t pretend it doesn’t do something to him to see her eyes light up over something as simple as curry and rice. 

Nesta’s poking her chopsticks around the box when she notices Cassian watching. “What?” she says, immediately on the defensive.

“You eat funny,” he admits. Her brows furrow so deeply he thinks they might create a permanent indentation. He’s quick to add, “It’s adorable. Seriously.” It isn’t something he would have said yesterday, but he’s taking Nesta’s words from the laundry room to heart. He won’t put a damper on his personality as long as she can handle it. 

Her hand comes up to self-consciously touch her cheek, but she quickly drops it. “Play the next episode,” she says as she picks up her chopsticks again, and that’s the end of that.

***

Cassian wastes no time coming up with ways to push Nesta out of her comfort zone, just as he promised. The next morning, he greets her downstairs in nothing but a pair of sweatpants. Nesta takes a long, slow blink at his bare torso, muscled arms, and brown skin, and turns around to get started on making breakfast. It’s not good enough— he catches a glimpse of her reddened cheeks when she reaches for the milk container anyway.

It’s only until they’re both settled in the living room after dinner that he realizes he doesn’t have the upper hand he thought he did. 

Nesta is stretched out on her stomach on the Persian rug in an oversized tee and nothing else. Her bare legs swing in the air behind her, and she’s listening to music and coloring. 

Cassian’s unanswered emails sit abandoned on the phone in his lap. He truly can’t stop staring; there’s just too much to absorb.

For starters, she wears glasses. Big, round, gold-rimmed glasses that are almost slipping off her nose at the moment. That revelation alone is so affecting that he has to quickly move on to other, smaller details. Like the sound of her uncapping different markers and filling in smooth lines on the page before her. Cassian feels a desperate desire to see what she’s coloring. Her hair is up in a ponytail, and her legs…

Cassian can’t say that ever since he first took notice of the beauty mark at the corner of Nesta’s lush mouth that he hasn’t wondered where else on her body she might be hiding little moles and freckles. He just never expected to get an answer so soon. Because right there, where her shirt rumples up to reveal her bare thigh, is the smallest dark spot. 

He wants to put his mouth on it. 

His own thoughts take him by surprise, and he realizes he’s gripping his phone so hard the screen might crack. 

He uncurls his fingers from the phone and squeezes his eyes shut against the wave of desire crashing into him. Desire and something else, something achingly fond and frustrated at the same time.

“Cassian?” The sound of his name has his eyes snapping open. Nesta’s watching him, brow furrowed. “Are you feeling okay?” she asks.

He feels stupid for trying to play this push-and-pull game with Nesta, because it’s barely even started and he’s already losing. “I’m gonna go put a shirt on,” he mutters, moving to get up.

Nesta’s lips turn down a little. “And ruin the view?” She says it completely seriously, not a hint of slyness to her words.

Cassian’s ass falls back into his seat in pure surprise. His eyes widen. “Was that a joke?” Did Nesta Archeron just make a joke?

Her frown turns deeper. “I don’t think so. Was it funny?”

“It was teasing.”

“Then it wasn’t a joke.” She shrugs and returns back to her coloring. “If you put a shirt on, I’m putting my pants on,” she says without looking up. 

Cassian has absolutely no idea what he’s gotten himself into. But he doesn’t move from the couch for the rest of the evening. 

***

By the end of the weekend, Nesta has gotten the hang of being around Cassian. There are several occasions in those first couple of days— slips of the tongue, really— where she pauses in trepidation, worried she’s said or done too much. She is always doing too much. But then Cassian grins, or laughs, or as of more often lately, teases her right back, and her muscles can relax again. 

He has also relaxed around her. Nesta knows that quiet front he put up when they first met was partly for her benefit, because the more comfortable they become with each other, the more he reminds her of the Cassian Feyre’s always talking about. And yet, the person he is with her is nothing like the person she’s seen hanging around Feyre’s inner circle. This person doesn’t make her feel excluded or ignored. It’s the exact opposite— she hasn’t been on the receiving end of this much male attention since Tomas. 

And as much as it surprises her to like it so much, she’s not in the mood for his particular brand of teasing at seven in the morning on a Monday. 

She stumbles into the kitchen fully dressed and more than a bit disgruntled, needing the strongest cup of coffee available to get through her morning classes today. Cassian is already sitting at the island with his laptop, and raises his brows to see her up this early. He dares to smile at her before the sun is even fully up. “Glad to see you woke up ready to play, Nesta.” 

Nesta almost throws her empty mug at his head. “Don’t talk to me,” she says, thumping her mug down beside the coffeemaker. 

Taunting becomes questioning as he eyes her outfit. “You have somewhere to be at this hour?”

“I’m a law student,” she grumbles, punching buttons on the coffeemaker. “I have morning classes three days a week.” It’s unacceptable, but it isn’t the worst thing she’ll go through as she tries to get her J.D.

Cassian sits up straight at that. “Who’s taking you to class?” Her car is still in for repairs, and she has yet to rent one to make up for it.

“I’m Ubering,” she tosses over her shoulder.

“That’s ridiculous,” Cassian says. “I’ll drive you.”

Nesta spins around at that. “No way in hell.” She throws whatever bite she has into her refusal. 

Cassian is unfazed. “It’s on my way to work.”

“You work from home.” He’s not even dressed.

“Then today is the day I’ll make a stop at corporate headquarters. My subordinates get to see my pretty face for once, you get to go to class, and we all win.” He grins, and in this moment Nesta truly hates his grin. It lights up his whole face in a way that should be illegal. He’s probably robbed banks with that grin. 

Nesta doesn’t have the brain capacity to argue with him. She doesn’t even feel like criticizing the fact that at twenty-seven, Cassian runs the entire security division of Night Court Inc. thanks to the help of the CEO, also known as his adoptive brother.

She’s never met anyone who makes nepotism look so good.

Grabbing her steaming coffee mug and taking a deep sip, unflinching at the feeling of her tastebuds being burned away, she meets Cassian’s expectant gaze. “Get dressed.”

***

When Cassian texts to ask her when she’s getting out of class, she doesn’t expect him to actually show up outside the law building with drinks and a paper bag of food. She has to stop and glance around for a moment, as if he could possibly be here for somebody else. 

Approaching him cautiously, Nesta takes the cup holder from his hand and inspects the contents. A green tea and a rainbow-colored slushie. She looks back up at Cassian, and he smiles. “Shall we?”

They end up settling under the shade of an oak tree on the lawn outside where her Principles of International Law class is held. “So how was your day?” Cassian asks as he bites into a burrito. 

Nesta can’t remember the last time someone asked her that and sounded genuine about it, and she almost doesn't know how to answer. “It's noon,” she says.

“Fine. How was your last four hours?”

“Nothing more interesting than yours.” She eyes his outfit at that. She’s never seen Cassian in this manner. Work Cassian wears expensive buttondowns tucked into slacks. Work Cassian must use some kind of fancy product on his hair to make it so flowy, because for the first time ever, he looks exactly like the amount of money he makes. “You look so...adult. I’d almost buy it if you didn't have the taste palate of a five year old.” Nesta sips from her tea.

He actually rolls his eyes at her. “You wish you had what it takes to handle an every-flavor-slushie.” Because that's what he’s drinking, a heart attack in a 32 ounce cup. 

“That's bait, and I’m not falling for it,” Nesta says through a mouthful of burrito. 

“You don't need to.” He offers the drink out to her. “Try it.” 

Nesta stares at the cup, chewing slowly. Usually the thought of sharing a straw with someone would disgust her, but— 

She just wants to know how it tastes. Swallowing quickly, she grabs the drink. “Whatever,” she mutters, and wraps her lips around the red straw. 

Cassian watches intently as she takes a deep pull. Ten different flavors hit her tongue at once, and she thinks her brain spasms. She's too tough to make a face, and swallows the slushie like it's nothing.

“You like?” Cassian looks hopeful.

Nesta slams the cup down. “It’s disgusting. My point was proven.”

He laughs. “Weak.”

More easy moments pass like this before he says, “I wish you came around Feyre’s more often. I could have gotten to know you earlier.”

Nesta stills, food halfway to her mouth. “What do you mean?”

Cassian shrugs. “It just seems odd that we’ve talked more in the last three days than in the last three years I’ve known of you. Why don’t you hang out with Feyre like Elain does?”

She stiffens, and considers whether the conversation is even worth continuing. “Feyre’s always with you guys,” she chooses her words carefully. “There’s rarely time left for me.”

She waits for Cassian to tell her that sharing exists, and that she’s allowed to be at Feyre’s place with Feyre’s friends at the same time, but he just watches her patiently. Waiting for her to go on. 

“Besides, I used to come over all the time before my sister moved to Velaris. You were there, too.”

“I was?” That gets his attention; he drops his food and turns to face her fully. “What are you talking about?”

Nesta nods, but an odd, old feeling is bubbling up in her chest. It tastes hard and a little sad. “I doubt you noticed, but I was there. In the background while you guys got drunk or laughed together.”

He huffs an odd sort of laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous. I would have noticed you from a hundred foot radius from Feyre’s apartment. We’ve only seen each other twice before this weekend.”

Nesta is caught between disbelief and disappointment, but she hides it well with a scoff. “We’ve only spoken to each other twice, idiot. I’ve seen you plenty of times.”

Cassian looks like she just came up to him with scientific evidence that the sky is green and grass is blue, and he can’t wrap his mind around it. “That just doesn’t make sense,” he says.

Nesta raises a brow. “Are you implying I’m lying?”

He shakes his head quickly. “No, but— it’s like you’re saying I failed to notice a fucking lion in the room every time I didn’t see you. It’s just not something someone fails to notice. It’s impossible not to notice!” He throws his hands up.

You’re impossible not to notice. Nesta has no idea what to make of that, or whether she should be insulted or not. He didn’t say it with the same backhanded tone as so many of the people she knew in high school, but it didn’t sound like high praise, either. On the other hand, the words are so ironic they’re almost funny.

She settles for a shrug and begins sweeping up her napkins and trash. “Well, it isn’t impossible for a lot of people.” The look she throws him says clear enough, Including you.

He works his jaw, seeming upset, but helps Nesta up from the ground anyway. Walks her all the way back to his truck in near-silence and drives them home.

A/N: you’d think the ‘ready to play’ line was a cute reference but i actually just suck at writing banter so i needed to borrow from sarah.

tagging: @ladywitchling @sjm-things @thewayshedreamed @drielecarla @sensitiveillyrian @superspiritfestival @aliveahaahahafuck @cupcakey00 @sayosdreams @rainbowcheetah512 @claralady @thebluemartini @nessiantho @missing-merlin @duskandstarlight @lucy617 @sleeping-and-books @awesomelena555 @julemmaes @wickedqueenoffantasy

if you want to be added or removed please send an ask or dm!

[oikawasass]

IM A BAKUHOE CAN U PLS DO 74 OR 76 WITH BLASTY ASS 🥺🥺🥺 - midoriya anon

hi I did both cause they were cute.

also new posting format baby lets goooo 😎

its also like almost 3am and this is half-ass edited so forgive me but I hope its alright

prompt 74 : “You’ve shown me what love can feel like.”

prompt 76 : “I wouldn’t change a thing about you.”

reassurance.

‣ pairing : bakugo x fem reader.

‣ oneshot.

‣ synopsis : bakugo finally confronts his girlfriend on why she’s been so distant.

‣ wordcount : 2.1k

‣ warnings : swearing, angst if you squint.

a series of heavy knocks could be heard on the other side of her door, immediately alerting her of who exactly it was. there was only one boy in the u.a dorms who could knock like he was about to punch straight through the wooden panel, and that was, of course, bakugo katsuki.

(name) shut off her phone and pulled her pillow over her head, dreading the conversation she knew would come about if she let him inside. so naturally, she ignored the knocks in hopes that the blonde who was about to start throwing down with her door would go away.

but we all know katsuki is far too stubborn for that.

another series of much louder knocks erupted from the doorway, as bakugo grew more and more impatient from the lack of response.

“oi, open up already dumbass, I know you’re in there.”

truth is, (name) had found herself in a bit of a rut, and had been feeling rather insecure for the past few weeks. the first little while she’d been begun feeling that way, she was able to bite the bullet and keep going about her life, pushing most of her negative thoughts aside as best she could. but now, for the past 5 or so days she’s been completely cut off.

talking to her boyfriend about things wasn’t hard for her. she trusted him and didn’t find it too difficult to open up when something was bothering her, but this was different.

insecurity was something bakugo typically didn’t acknowledge and quite frankly, looked down on most of the time. (name) didn’t wanna find herself bothering him with something she knew he most likely would think is annoying, hence the multiple weeks she had kept quiet about it, hoping it would go away on its own or she’d be able to figure it out herself.

unfortunately for her, things didn’t go quite according to plan when she continued to spiral downwards.

she’d been quiet in her classes, noticeably dodging bakugo and her friends, not sticking around for lunch or after training like she normally would, and everyone noticed she was off. everyone including katsuki.

he wanted to give her space to ‘sort her shit out’ before he began pestering and questioning her, as normally he’d want the same thing, but now it was coming up on a week and they’d hardly spoken. a few mutters of (name) saying “cant, homework.” or “sorry, I’m tired.” was all that had been said that week.

so naturally, bakugo got tired of all the silence and went to do what he did best. confront her. he wanted to know what the hell was going on, he was tired of pulling his hair out trying to figure out what he did wrong.

(name) didn’t answer the door once more. she knew she had fucked up pretty bad by ignoring him, but she didn’t know what else to do. and now she had to confront whatever problem she may have caused, which only made her want to curl up and hide more.

alas, when she heard a much softer, much quieter,

“please?”

coming from the hallway, she broke.

standing up with a heavy sigh, the (colour) haired girl stood up from her bed, rubbing her eyes and walking over to unlock the door, immediately going and flopping down into her mattress afterwards.

katsuki walked inside, shutting the door behind him and shoving his hands into the pockets of his black sweats. scanning over her figure, he took note of her tired eye bags, messy thrown up hair, and these fuzzy black penguin patterned pyjama pants which he knew she only wore when she was upset. paired with one of his hoodies she had stolen, of course.

“you look like shit.” bakugo grumbled, going and sitting down on the end of her bed, sinking into the soft (colour) duvet on top.

“good to see you too, babe.” (name) replied sarcastically, turning and shoving her face into a pile of her pillows.

there was an uncomfortable silence hanging over the room for a moment as katsuki figured out what he wanted to say, and it was obvious that (name) wasn’t gonna say anything first. with a heavy sigh, the blonde ran a hand through his thick, spiky hair and spoke up.

“did I- did I do something or whatever the fuck?” he asked, his words a bit harsh but his much quieter tone helping to deliver them much easier.

(name) bit the inside of her cheek gently, keeping her face hidden in the pile of sheets and freshly washed pillows.

“what makes you think that?” her response was mumbled by the fabric practically eating her face.

“don’t play dumb, shithead. you’ve been dodging me all week. you’re normally all- all clingy and shit and you never cancel plans.”

clingy. that one stung a bit.

“so if I did something to piss you off just- just fucking tell me already cause I’m getting really damn tired of-“

“you didn’t do anything, alright? chill out.” (name) cut him off, rolling onto her back so now the couple was making eye contact once more.

bakugo tsked, throwing his hands in the air a bit and letting them fall onto his lap.

“so then why the hell have you been blowing me off all week, huh?”

(name) sighed heavily, rubbing her eyes and sliding her hands down her face as she struggled with how exactly to articulate that she’d been feeling incredibly insecure and didn’t wanna be a nuisance to him without sounding like an absolute moron.

“I just- I’ve just been feeling shitty lately and I didn’t wanna bug you with it while I sort things out, okay?” she explained vaguely, nervously fidgeting with her fingers while she avoided his gaze.

when she mentioned she hadn’t been feeling well, bakugo softened up a little bit. he knew sometimes she got like this, having periods of time where she just wasn’t herself, but normally she came to him herself and told him what was up. so he couldn’t quite understand why this time was different.

bakugo sighed and stood up to go lay beside her, propping himself up on his elbow while resting his cheek in the palm of his hand.

“well why did you just say that in the first place, dumbass?”

he wasn’t a great advice giver, and he wasn’t great at comforting, but when it came to things like this he was a pretty good listener, so he always offered up his ears when (name) was feeling down.

“what’s got you down, huh? talk to me already.”

the girl beside him continued to fidget and play with her fingers, debating on whether she actually wanted to explain to him her feelings, or just shrug him off and do her best to convince the blonde it was something else.

she was ping-ponging back and forth. lie and most likely not get away with it but still not sound stupid, or tell the truth and have your boyfriend think you’re an idiot. a wide variety of lovely choices she had to choose from.

yet, in the end, she decided it would be best to be honest with him. oftentimes, nothing good came out of lying in these types of scenarios, and she surely didn’t want to fuck up more than she already might have. sure, katsuki wasn’t mad for the time being, but that boy’s temper can switch on and off like a light sometimes. so she still approached the situation cautiously.

“I feel just- annoying and like I’m a bother to you with this shit all the time so I didn’t wanna throw all my problems or whatever into you again, alright?

you’re practically this idol student who’s so damn cocky and confident in himself, so when….”

she sighed, trying to find the words once more.

“when I start feeling gross and insecure, or when I’m starting to completely flop in some of my classes, I just- i feel like I just become this huge weight on your back and..” she swallowed, slowing herself down as she felt herself begin to rant.

“…and it’s embarrassing! you shouldn’t have to deal with me feeling like an idiot, you have enough on your plate as it is and- and I should be able to deal with this kind of shit on my own, not immediately run to you whenever I feel-”

(name’s) midoriya-muttering speed ranting was cut off when a familiar pair of plush lips were pressed up against her own, immediately shoving all her worries into the back of her mind. she hadn’t realized how much she missed something as simple as a kiss from her boyfriend in the week she’d been distancing herself from him.

after a moment or so, when bakugo was sure she would be shut up enough for him to speak, he pulled away.

rolling onto his back, bakugo waved her over to him, using his other hand to prop up his head from behind.

“come here, just be quiet and listen for a sec will ya?”

(name) was not hesitant to cuddle right up into his side, tangling her legs in with his and resting her head atop his toned chest. after wrapping an arm tightly around her shoulders, rubbing her back slowly, the boy began to speak.

“it’s my job to be here for you, okay idiot? as sappy as it sounds, when you’re upset, I’m upset too. I don’t like seeing you down, it makes me feel like a shitty boyfriend for not bein’ able to help.” he leaned down to kiss the top of her head.

“you shouldn’t be embarrassed to tell me shit, doesn’t matter how stupid you think it is.

nobody’s perfect, alright? get that through your head.” bakugo said, flicking her forehead gently. (name) chuckled quietly.

“even you?”

“only sometimes, but that doesn’t leave this room.” bakugo answered, smirking to himself.

“listen, I know you’re a badass, and you can get through shit on your own. you’re strong as hell.

but that doesn’t mean you can’t take it. speaking from experience, sometimes it’s better to just bite your tongue and accept the help from people that care about you.”

(name) listened to every word that he said very carefully, letting them sink in as she processed them. it was rare that bakugo got like this, but when he did, it was rather impressive how easy he was able to make her feel better. his advice sucked half the time, sure, considering “blasting the fuckers to hell” isn’t always an option, but this kind of advice was something she’d keep with her always.

“you’re damn special, you know that? you’ve done somethin’ even better than getting a decent grade on your stupid chemistry test.”

bakugo stated, leaning his head back so his gaze was fixated on the ceiling, closing his eyes with a sigh. (name) furrowed her eyebrows together slightly, tilting her head up to look at her boyfriend.

“wait, but what did I do exactly?” she asked, curiosity lacing her tone. bakugo placed a hand on top of her head, ruffling her hair a bit.

“you’ve shown me what love can feel like. somethin’ I thought i’d never know or go through. so to do that, you’ve gotta be pretty fuckin’ incredible.”

(name) smiled up at him and leaned up a bit more to kiss his jaw, returning to her comfy spot on his chest right after.

“I’m sorry that I get like this. I’ll work on it, ‘kay?” (name) said quietly, still feeling a bit bad that bakugo had to go and tell her all this, though she can’t deny that it made her extremely happy to hear.

“shut up with that already, will you? you know I wouldn’t change a damn thing about you.”

and that was enough to reassure (name) almost completely, that her negative feelings and emotions weren’t as bad as she had been painting them out to be.

with a soft smile, and a slow close of her eyes, (name) nuzzled closer up into bakugo, her cheek squished up against his chest.

“I love you, you big softie.”

“yeah yeah, whatever. I love you too.”

[daydream-believin]

The Never-Ending Roadtrip (new beginnings)

Summary: Reader joins Douxie in the quest for Nari’s safety. He’ll need company won’t he? - Also, a talk about Merlin and grief. It’s big feelings time. (part two)

Warnings: Swearing, theres like three bad puns and at least one meme im sorry

Word Count: 2713

A/N: inspired by the fact that i recently moved states and it was the most tedious trip ever. It took the entire day. i was bored out of my mind. So i decided to write about going on a long boring roadtrip with Douxie instead. also, i have a black cat myself and i can attest that they are little domesticated demons. she didn’t like the long trip either.

“And what do you think you’re doing?” Douxie deadpanned when he saw (Name) run up to join him on the ship, perching on the edge. “Well I’m coming with you, obviously.” Douxie had known the young woman long enough to know that there would not be a point in arguing. They would just go round and round for hours before she ultimately won. She fought dirty, puppy dog eyes and all. He didn’t have time for this.

After making sure that Archie and Nari were secure, Doux turned back to (Name), “You’re absolutely sure about this decision, love? Once we take off there’s no going back. We could even be running for the rest of our lives. You really should stay with the others,” he warned.

She looked annoyed. “Yes, Doux. I am absolutely sure. I wouldn’t want you to do this alone. And besides, you’ll need me.”

He blushed for a second before realizing she meant he would need her as in extra backup and not that he needed her needed her. Trying not to show the slight disappointment that was written on his face, he chuckled and covered his cheek with his palm, “Of course.”

They set off into the early morning sky. After waving goodbye to the rest of the gang, (Name) clung to the golden railing, looking out over California in amazement. It was like she was in a movie. This was her life changing magic carpet ride. Of course, a lot about her life had seemed to be out of a movie lately. Ever since she discovered her gift for sorcery. Ever since she got mixed up in all this Arcadian mess. Ever since she met Douxie.

Surprisingly, Douxie was really talkative for the first few hours of the trip. (Name) had expected him to be a bit more closed off, considering the week they had just gone through. He was really gushy too, with his heart on his sleeve even more so than usual, and that’s saying something for Douxie. Maybe momentary death was good for unclogging heart pipes.  (Name) was loving it. Not the momentary death thing. That had almost stopped her heart. No, it was so nice to be having such lighthearted conversation with her friends. Kept her from dwelling on things. Once night got closer, though, she couldn’t help it. What could she say, the pink splattered purple sunset made her sentimental. She and Douxie had slipped into a little talk about Arcadia, about the kids, about what had happened, and about what was next for them. Despite her gushing about how happy she was to be here with him, Douxie still felt really guilty that he put her through all this. She made the mistake of telling him how much it scared her, everything that happened earlier. She made a bigger mistake telling him how she cried over his body, refusing to accept that he was gone. He wasn’t of course, but she didn’t know that.

He suddenly got quiet after that. The conversation lulled. Even Nari and Archie seemed to sense that something was off and kept quiet. After watching the stars roll by in silence for a few hours, (Name) started to feel the tug of sleep. She tried to find a cozy spot, but failed, because she was on a ship. A pretty basic little vessel. There were no seats or anything even kind of cushiony. She contemplated using Archie as a pillow, but that probably wouldn’t fly well with him. Pun intended.

Douxie was still as statue, staring out straight ahead into the clouds. Like a grizzled old sea captain. The bags under his eyes were getting worse than usual, but (Name) decided to not to say anything to him and let it be. He looked like he was enjoying the silence. She didn’t think he’d sleep tonight. How could he? She mused. (Name) herself hadn’t even begun to truly process all that had happened. She wished she knew what to say. Anything to comfort him, to let him know she’s be there. But (Name) was no use now, in her sleepy state. She might make it worse. She’d try talking to him in the morning. If he even wanted to talk.

In the end, (Name) wound up leaning against the corner, using her balled up over-shirt as a pillow. It was a bit colder now, but with Nari snuggled up in her lap and Archie stretched out over her legs, she’d be just fine. They might as well had been heaters. Doux wouldn’t join them, insisting that they needed to fly through the entire night to put as much distance between them and Arcadia as possible. He assured them that he’d wake them up if something was the matter. Of course, they were sleeping on an open deck floor. Any sort of trouble would wake them up immediately anyway, but it was a nice thought. (Name) snuggled into her makeshift pillow. She took one last look at Douxie, brooding at the helm, before slipping off to dreamland. It was a mediocre dream.

The morning sun came sooner than (Name) wanted. The cheeky bugger. There was no use trying to go back to sleep. The sun was too big and bright. so, so bright. Nari also stirred when the sun beam hit her face. She blinked blearily and let out a cute yawn. Or at least it would have been cute, had it not been directly into (Name)’s face. (Name) had to give it to Nari though, her morning breath actually didn’t smell bad. It was earthy, floral even. Damn nature spirits. Despite (Name) and Nari being awake, the sun’s rays seemed to have little to no effect on Archie. He could sleep through anything, on anything, at any time. Damn cats.

Douxie looked like the dead. His raven hair was a mess, lips chapped from the wind. Those eyebags had somehow gotten even worse. Douxie gave Tim Burton characters a run for their money. (Name) decided it might be better to wait until she was a bit more awake and articulate to try and talk to him more about… the, ah, events from yesterday. Yet, she was fully aware that if she kept procrastinating, the conversation was just going to get worse and worse. But the timing’s not right. Yes, the timing’s just not right. The stars, they’re not in position. In fact it might be easier if she got him to take a nap first. Yeah, no need to cause sleep deprived Douxie to have an unnecessary breakdown.

It took some convincing, but (Name) finally got him to agree to let her take the helm and get that well deserved rest. Not that Douxie thought he deserved it. He wasn’t too happy about leaving (Name) and Nari alone, figuratively, while he was unconscious and unable to protect them. He wasn’t too happy about a lot of things, really. He especially didn’t care to be alone with his subconscious. But with the worried look (Name) gave him, he couldn’t help but comply with her demands. Her and her bloody puppy dog eyes.

He woke up to the sound of (Name)’s singing. She probably hadn’t meant to wake him up, with her soft voice hushed, but nonetheless he was awake. Douxie was a light sleeper. He had to be, after all his troublesome years. She was singing a sweet little love song. He felt a drumming in his chest as he listened. Speaking of his chest, there seemed to be a bit of pressure on it. A familiar pressure. It started to purr, sending the comforting vibrations through his ribcage. He gave Arch a good scritch behind the ears before sitting up.

“Your voice is so lovely, you know. I cannot imagine why you’re always hiding it.”

Name startled. “Did I wake you?” she asked, concerned since he hadn’t been out but for a few hours.

“Yes, you had,” He began gently, “But, I’m glad.”

“You’re glad?”

“Of course, I got to hear that beautiful singing voice of yours. Quite the rarity, innit?”

(Name) flushed. She wasn’t sure if she was flattered by his compliments or embarrassed that he had caught her singing once again. Still, she tried to refute his words but all that came out was a flustered sputter. Thankfully, Nari came to the rescue. Unintentionally, but a rescue all the same.

“Hisirdoux, now that you are awake, may I ask where it is that we are going?” the small goddess asked.

“Oh, uh, about that,” Doux wrapped his arms behind his back and sucked some air through his teeth, “I actually didn’t have a set place in mind. I think we’ll just wing it. On our winged boat.”

(Name) whipped her head towards him so fast she’d get whiplash. She didn’t even acknowledge the terrible joke. “I’m terribly sorry, but you what.”

“I just thought we’d head northeast for now. Once we run out of land, we’ll pick a new direction. It’s not like we’d be able to stay too long in a place, after all. It’s safer to be constantly moving.” He tried not to sound to unsure in this rambling. He did have a plan, just not one that looked too solid on a piece of paper. It’ll be fine. They’ll be fine.

“I- okay.” She didn’t sound too panicked, which Douxie counted as a win. Still, he didn’t want her to be too stressed about the uncertainties. He figured he might as well just pick a place to ease her fears a bit. She couldn’t worry herself raw, that was his job.

“How about New York City? That can be our first official destination on the Never-Ending Roadtrip.”

“Yeah, yeah okay. New York City, that sounds nice.” Victory.

***

“Ugh, we’ve been flying over basically the same damn thing forever! Can’t this thing go any faster?” (Name) whined as she leaned over the edge like a wilted flower. Her wind-mussed hair hung over her face. It took everything in Douxie not to flinch whenever she got to close to where she might fall out. Sure, she would most likely be able to break her fall with magic, not coming out with too many scratches, but it still scared him just the same. (Name) was gonna give him a heart attack one of these days.

“It’s a fucking magical flying boat, (Name). It goes eighty miles per hour tops. Do you know how advanced that was in the twelfth century? It was a fucking miracle of technology, (Name). It’s not the boat’s fault we’re currently travelling through Kansas.” Doux huffed. He quickly felt guilty for snapping at her and apologized. He felt a bit on edge lately. Their conversation last night kind of freaked him out. He wanted to be a little more protective of her now since she told him about how scared she was, but snapping at her would just accomplish the opposite of getting across how much he cared.

Name sighed. Looking around the ship, she noticed that Nari and Archie were just napping in the sun, completely unbothered by her and Douxie’s loud outbursts. She looked back out into the seemingly infinite grass field again.

“Well, I guess now is a pretty good time,” She said cryptically, “Hisirdoux, we need to talk.”

It was like she just injected ice water into his veins. He didn’t like her tone, plus, those words were never proceeded by something good. Never. “To talk?” he asked with a nervous tinge in his voice, hoping if she elaborated it wouldn’t be as bad as the conclusions he was jumping to.

“Yeah. Talk. About your feelings.” Well now he was panicking. She said that so solemnly. How did she know? Fuzzbuckets, she was about to reject him, on this boat they were stuck on, in the middle of Kansas. Rip out his heart and throw it into the grassy void.

“To talk, about my feelings?” he repeated her again, incredulously. He put on his best fake smile.

“Yes, Doux.” She sat down on the railing near him and crossed her legs. “I just- I think it’s time we had a proper conversation about stuff. Like say, I don’t know, how you’re handling your grief over a certain mentor.”

Douxie quickly let go of the breath, he wasn’t sure when he started holding, in a loud sigh of relief. Oh thank Merlin, he thought this was going to be bad. That’s what she wanted to talk about? Okay, not the problem he was expecting, but one he could deal with. He’s already had a couple of good cries. He spent most of last night mulling over not just Merlin but the whole concept of death. He could talk about the weight of grief hanging over his heart, no big deal.

“I believe I am handling it well, thank you for your concern, Love.” He tried to sound nonchalant.

“Hisirdoux Casperan, you stared out into the distance with unblinking glassy eyes for hours last night and barely spoke to any of us. Hell, you fucking died yesterday, Doux. Don’t think I’ve forgotten about that. You’re not fine. And you’re not weaseling your way out of this conversation either.” She said sternly. They entered an unspoken staring contest.

“Alright, Love, fine. I am fine. Okay?” She quirked her brow. “I am, truly. I’m at peace. He lived a good life and I’ll continue his legacy with honour. Of course I’m still sad about it, but I’ve got other things to focus on right now. Sure, my chest is still heavy, but it’s not crushing like it was when the wound was fresh,” he rubbed the back of his neck, “And I did get my last goodbye talk with him when I was dead,” He chuckled to try and lighten that last bit up, but name still winced at his words.

“Douxie, I just- I know what it’s like, ya know. To suddenly no longer have that father figure in your life. Someone you looked up to for so long. It’s hard Doux, I get that.” She sympathized. She tipped her head down towards the deck floor.

“Well, in a way, he’s already been gone for about, say, nine centuries. I’ve had my time away from him, so I know that I can do it. It’s the knowing that now he’s gone gone that’s the real kicker.” He glanced across the boat over to the sleeping pile of fur and greenery. Nari was curled up into a ball while Archie mirrored the same, but on top of her. They were like a couple of stacked buns. Douxie smiled at the sight. “And yet, do you know what makes it all feel better?” Name looked back up at him and furrowed her brows.

“You. And Archie. And Zoe. And Claire. And my bandmates and my coworkers and the rest of the Arcadia gang. I’ve got plenty of people in the world now. I know I’ve got all kinds of love.”  He hung his arm over her shoulders. He had made up his mind, he was going to open his heart to her soon. Almost dying really puts one’s priorities in view. “Recently, a great man, well, a great dragon, told me that family is not just who you have, it’s also who you’re with. If one thing I’ve learned in this nightmare week, it’s that you’ve got to enjoy people while you can. Because once they’re gone, they’re gone. You can’t dwell on past love, you’ve got to soak in the love you’ve got now, or you’ll miss it.”

“I guess I understand that.” (Name) said softly. She took in his words. Focus on the now love, huh. She could use to do that too. She felt his hand move from her shoulder to the small of her back.

“Oh hey look at that, we’re coming up on Missouri. How about we stop for brunch, Love?”

“Oh I’m starving,” Archie butt into the conversation and flew over to rest on (Name)’s shoulder. He did one of those black cat yawns where they turn their entire faces inside out and they become nothing more than a black hole with teeth, “I could really go for a bagel with extra lox right now.”

[sloppy-butcher]

Hcs Caleb Quinn and The Hillbilly (idk his name im sorry) with a s/o with a soft-southern voice and their like extremely sweet and too nice shbsjsnssn

his name is Max Thompson Jr. and he is my son.

this will be the first time i write for Caleb and i am here for it!!!! i’ve been binging all his other content mainly from @yeehawitstheplague and @dead-by-deathslinger (check them out if you crave more cowboi)

thank you so much for the ask! i absolutely LOVE writing for Max <3 he is below the cut cause its long again

HeadCanons for The Deathslinger (Caleb Quinn) and The Hillbilly (Max Thompson Jr.) with Southern-accented S/O

The Deathslinger (Caleb Quinn)

Caleb had spent his whole childhood life trying to imitate the accent of old. He had watched his dad be berated and mocked for his Irish accent and was taught early on that if he wanted to be taken seriously, Caleb had to talk like the men who owned the world, the businessmen. So Caleb practiced, day-in day-out, to hide away his roots as an Irish man, covering all his traits with thick and smoky Southern Accent. Besides that he had never really given it any thought, sometimes an odd word would slip out but those who heard it would be persuaded to never mention it.

However, when Caleb first hears you speak in that gentle accent he is immediately enchanted. To him it was like honey, slow and warm, sugary, and sickly. He couldn’t get enough. He’d deliberately ask you to say certain words, chuckling every time you humored him. He had never heard that way of speaking before, everyone he had ever met spoke in very broken and slurred speech. You were articulated, smarter than anyone else he had ever known, and rolled the accent over your tongue with ease. Oh, how he liked it.

In any other situation, Caleb is, by all means, not a nickname kinda guy. Sure he’d accept the odd ‘honey’ or ‘baby’ directed to him from his partner but other than that he always remained just Caleb. That was until you showed up. It sort of just... slipped out one day. You had accidentally called him ‘Darlin’ ’. Slowly Caleb turned around to face you, his silver eyes tearing away from the maintenance work on his gun and glided their way over to you frozen form. You stood there, mouth agape and mind wheeling. Oh God, he was gonna be upset with you. “I-I’m so sorry Caleb. I didn’t mean to-”.

“Ain't no one ever called me darlin’ before,” Caleb's voice was soft barely above a whisper. It was true, he had heard many lovers call each other that nickname, a foreign word to his lips and ears. And the way you said it, so deep with love that it almost hurt to hear it.  You felt your tension release as the cowboy gave off no aura of hostility or displeasure. Only a deep sense of melancholy. You wanted to go to him, to reach out and take his hand in yours. Your heart ached for his burdened sadness. “You are my darlin’ “, you said again edging closer to his workbench. He hung his head, turning his attention away. Quickly you were by his side, a small hands beneath his chin pulling his head up to yours, “You are my darlin’. My baby! My Caleb.” He seemed fixated on your desperate eyes searching them wholly for something. He found comfort in your eyes and a warm smile. He placed a hand on your shoulder and released a low laugh. “I like that.” Suddenly he pulled you into his lap wrapping his long arms around you in ease and causing you to let out a yelp of surprise. He laughed even more at your noise. In your close proximity, you managed to see the full extent of your effect on him. He longed for deep affection and acceptance and even though it was only a word, it was such a kind word. You cupped his cheeks in your palms, careful not to hurt his crooked jaw and fragile broken skin. A small smile crept across your lips and your eyes lowered as you felt heat bleed into your face. “My darlin’.” Caleb, after a moment of staring, leaned into your embrace and a rumble erupted from his chest. He loved that.

The Hillbilly (Max Thompson Jr.)

To be completely dead honest Max would really dislike your accent. It reminded him of the shadows from under the door, the voices of the man and woman who sometimes fed him and always hurt him when they caught sight of his figure. He did not like it at all. Hearing you speak would ignite a deeply buried fear in his chest which often resulted in him lashing out and killing or hurting everyone around him. Forgive him, he does not know what this feeling is nor does he know how to deal with it in a health and non-destructive manner.

It would take a long time to get Max to trust you. To hear your voice and accept that it was you speaking and not the ghosts of his past. Because of reluctance to hear you speak the beginning of your relationship would have started from silence. You’d have to use gestures and body language. Max would be attracted to your kindness and patience and eventually, he’d be comfortable enough to let you touch him.

When you do start speaking to him, you would have to say short and quiet sentences. He’d stare you, feverishly watching your mouth move as the words slipped out. He’d have to make the connection between you and the sound, understand that it wasn’t the shadow people talking but you. And you weren’t going to hurt him. Once he even asked (well, gestured) if he could touch you as you spoke to him. He crouched in front of you, a hesitant hand hovering around your lips. You said something and he tilted his head, coarse fingers reaching out and tracing your mouth. ‘So soft,’ he thought. After a moment he blinked and snapped his attention to your eyes, as soft and kind as ever. There was no hurt from you, no hate or fear. Just odd and persistent patience.

Max would never be 100% okay with your accent. There would be bad days and good days but he was trying. And that's all that mattered really.

His favorite thing to do was have you call him “Darlin’ or anything sweet. He loved the way the nicknames rolled off your tongue and made his belly feel warm. It was such sweet words, a combination of all the good things you were. And the fact that is was directed at him made it even more special to him. He’d blush profusely whenever you called him that, sharply turning his head away from you and burying his face in his hands.

Once you even called him “Sweetheart~” and Max nearly lost it. It was so sudden, so gentle, and full of affection that Max was stuck in a stupor for a moment. From then on whenever Max would hug you, draping his larger body over yours, he would try to rumble his own rendition of the word. “SeeHaar,” he’d growl in his throat. You’d giggle. It was an endearing effort, one that was so innocent and pure that it didn't matter if it made sense or not. He’d take joy from your reaction to his word, squeezing you tighter in his arm until you had to ask him to let you breathe.

[morwensteelsheen]

WIP wednesday thoughts:

willow cabin is utterly fucked because i changed my intended ~moral~ halfway through and now im stuck trying to integrate this shitty political intrigue plot into what should’ve been a more interesting story about éowyn adapting to life in gondor. hugely fucking annoyed by it and just totally unsure how to proceed. i could significantly increase the chapter count, but im worried that because the initial framing device was this bandits shit that closing out that plot and then still going for ages afterwards would be really shitty? i honestly don’t know, it’s so difficult. really i just need someone to read my outline and tell me if im being a dumb twat about it lol

meanwhile I know exactly where I want to go with AFTA but for some unaccountable reason im stressed that my ass is gonna get roasted for the direction i want to take it in. it’s all based in both tolkien’s personal politics and (some) historical precedent, but im worried people are gonna see it as a marysue-ification? but also im hoping to do sthg of a sequel to afta to practice the political intrigue writing so i don’t make the same mistakes i did in wc, and to do that it would require this specific set up in AFTA. im gonna put my AFTA thing under the cut so don’t click read more unless you’re gucci with potential AFTA spoilers!!

this royal affair au is definitely gonna get published at some point but im trying to decide if i want to do ~tasteful~ smut that drives a longer narrative or if im really just gonna do a whole 3,000 word build up to some run of the mill, old fashioned PWP lmao

okay so i have spent a Lot of time thinking about what impact i think éowyn and faramir would have on each other in a pre-ring war setting, and the honest to god conclusion ive come to is that they would somewhat inadvertently egg on each other’s (wildly divergent) idealism.

faramir’s an idealist politically in ways that, as Big D rightly points out, are not super productive in a wartime scenario. but so far as im concerned, the war doesn’t feel as warlike until they have to blow the bridge at osgiliath. until that point, there’s not really anything to say that faramir’s whole throwback optimism isn’t a perfectly justifiable position to have.

but what that idealism is and how it manifests are two really important considerations. the crux of his idealistic politics is that he looks at númenor and sees something valuable in it, and looks at gondor and sees a lot that he thinks is fucked up. outside of articulating a general angst towards the glory hunting, it’s not like he’s spending time talking about his specific policy prescriptions. however, we do know a few things that can guide us to a more coherent reconstruction of his politics:

he’s pretty rigidly hierarchical (when it’s convenient for him). as seen in: him basically telling sam to fuck off and stay in his lane in WOTW, and in how and when he chooses to refer to his father as ‘father’ vs ‘my lord’ or ‘lord of the city’ in the aftermath of the osgiliath retreat and then before he gets his ass sent back there. i don’t want to go into too much detail here but if i go with this i’ll definitely justify it more thoroughly in the footnotes.

so we’ve got faramir’s emphasis on hierarchy and his occasional (when convenient) belief that the upper echelons of a hierarchy are there because they’re intellectually and/or morally better. or, maybe to remove the causation from that instance, because they are in those upper echelons, they have an obligation to be more morally/intellectually upstanding, and the people in the structure below them have an obligation to show deference. unless you’re faramir and you’re dealing with denethor in which case that all goes out the window. classic.

we know there is some sort of nascent pseudo-democratic tradition of popular sovereignty in gondor. we know this because faramir asks the masses at aragorn’s coronation if they’ll accept him as king. faramir is a lot of things, but he is certainly not a progressive political radical, and i cannot imagine any situation in which he cooked up that rigmarole himself. that then implies to me that it’s building on some sort of political/cultural expectation in gondor. so: some sort of relationship to popular legitimacy. the people of gondor are subjects, but perhaps not as totally passive and unconsidered in the power structure as we might assume given the comparability to feudal europe/asia.

given those two things, i want to use AFTA to argue:

that faramir, in looking to assign blame for the faults he sees in gondor, would not directly assign blame to the lower classes, but rather to the aristocracy, because he will have seen them as failing in their moral obligations to the people they rule over. this is not to say that he isn’t fucked off about The People™ valorising war, but i think he’d take the position that they couldn’t possibly be expected to form those values and opinions of their own volition, and the fault lies in their rules. faramir: not gramscian.

faramir lacks any power that is non-military, and even that is of questionable worth because the rangers seem to be fairly distinct to the general structure of the army, and are not exactly a huge force.

faramir lacking any political power isn’t necessarily a huge concern for him (as in, he’s not actively trying to change that), because he knows he’s not going to lead a moral revolution and isn’t interested in taking up the responsibilities having political capital would engender because he’s stuck dealing with this war, that he fucking hates btw has he mentioned that he hates it?

however, given that he is apparently eminently versed in lore and scholarship, he is probably keenly aware that there is this incipient notion of popular legitimacy somewhere in gondor’s culture. it’s not, for most of his life, knowledge that actually does anything for him, but it is there.

éowyn, meanwhile, doesn’t really have many strong political convictions (yet). not because she’s a dumbass or whatever, but because she looks at court politics as kind of a farce, and doesn’t believe that power legitimately emanates from anywhere that isn’t a Big Fucking Army. and why, strictly speaking, would she not think that? the event that brought about the creation of her kingdom was not careful, soft spoken negotiation, it was her ancestors being in the right place at the right time with a Big Fucking Army.

and the internal politics of the Riddermark actually seem to be fairly stable, all things considered. i sincerely doubt that Théoden or Théodred are having to negotiate complex politicking in the way Denethor and Boromir are. so where, then, would éowyn see that kind of political behaviour outside gondor? with gríma.

éowyn, then, will see the immediate contrast between gríma (backroom dealer, manipulator extraordinaire) and théoden (owner of Big Fucking Army). and gríma goes and fucking wins that fight. that forces éowyn to confront the fact that, jesus christ, maybe there are different types of power.

at the same time, she’s going to be in minas tirith and needing to cover for théoden letting his shit get wrecked. not just because she’s prideful, which of course she is, but because if denethor/gondor think that théoden is too weak to hold up his end of the bargain, why would they ever go help the Mark? éowyn, seeing that théoden’s f-f-fucked, knows that there’s a very very good chance the Mark will need help.

against her feelings about courtly politics, she starts to accept that she’s going to need to do something to get power in gondor. not anything substantial, it’s not like she’s trying to overthrow anybody, but enough that when push comes to shove she can force denethor to help out the Mark (if he doesn’t do so willingly).

but, as ive sort of already shown in AFTA, she’s a bit of a dogshit diplomat. good for a little big-brawny-enforcer stuff, but not exactly brimming with cultural sensitivity. by the time she realises théoden + the Mark are fucked, she’ll have burnt quite a few bridges with the gondorrim nobles, and it’s not like she’s the sort of person to go running cap-in-hand begging for mercy.

so: she has to look elsewhere. and wow! a chance for faramir to do his favourite thing — talk about his opinions! and by god, his weird idealistic politics are… actually kind of helpful? because he’s like, look, you’re never gonna be a diplomat, but there are other ways of consolidating power. and one of those ways is by appealing to The People™. so why not work that angle?

and actually, we know that this is a viable route for éowyn because hama, in arguing for her to take up the mantle of théoden’s heir when théoden and éomer fuck off to helm’s deep, basically says that The People™ love her and would have willingly chosen her to lead them.

we also know, based on faramir’s middle men speech, that the people of gondor and the mark have grown alike in nature. not totally unreasonable to then think that the people of gondor would take to her like the people of the mark did.

éowyn, then, in various ways begins to try to win over the people of minas tirith. i need to do a little more research on this bc what ive got on the practicalities of that so far are a bit, uhhh, sketchy, but the least jargony way to describe this is to point to when natalie dormer’s character in GOT gets out of the carriage to go hug and kiss some babies. (marc bloch, eat your heart out)

this would later segue into a potential sequel where, while trying to secure the way for aragorn’s coronation, éowyn actually plays an interesting role because she’s fallen into this incidental Diana, People’s Princess™ role and so is better positioned than almost anyone to go advocate on his behalf. wow! cool! éowyn getting to be politically useful in more ways than just getting hitched!

so yeah. that’s how i am thinking it might play out. this would obviously have a rolling impact on the remainder of AFTA and how certain (🔥) events pan out later, but i think that building up part has to begin pretty much now, narratively. also this lets me get in a reference to “and then her heart changed, or else at last she understood it” and have it not be almost entirely about wanting to shag faramir, but actually about her gradual evolution from valorising war above all else to being like, hmm, maybe there are other ways of being powerful. which i think still largely captures the “no longer I will vie with the great riders” stuff, but more subtly and without feeling quite so… deferential, I guess? Like it’s not that she’s swapping one form of power (violence) for nothing (gardening?? healing?? tolkien accidental articulation of necropolitics??) but swapping violence for a different type of more sustainable power.

yeah. that’s the take, basically. who fucking knows.

[thathopelessromantic]

Reckless Good (6/?)

Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia/My Hero Academia Fic Rating: Explicit Chapter Rating: Teen+ Pairing: Todoroki Shouto/Midoriya Izuku Note: Thanks again for your amazing support so far! I really appreciate all of you and your comments have been making my weeks since posting <3 This fic will be going on a short hiatus...I'm not sure how long it will be but July has been shockingly busy this year and has only continued to get crazier so I need a little more time to write more of this fic 

Todoroki Shouto had accepted his fate as a public figure when he became a pro-hero, but there are some parts of his private life he would like to stay private. When he gets invited to be a speaker in a college lecture series, he goes to the meeting with one goal: to give the coordinator a piece of his mind and finally put an end to people hounding him for information about his family.

The last thing he expects is the curious, and quirkless, hero- and quirk-study professor, Midoriya Izuku, who has no interest in his family’s history, and, somehow, even more ties to the hero industry than Shouto. Intrigued by the professor, Shouto tentatively agrees to the lecture series, unknowingly intertwining their futures.

But the more Todoroki sees of Midoriya, the more questions he has. When a villain attack leaves them living together until the culprits are apprehended, maybe he’ll finally get some answers.

AO3: (x) Beginning/Chapter One: (x) Previous Chapter: (X) TDDKBB2021 Companion Art: (X)

It’s been three days since the debriefing, and Shouto hasn’t been able to think about much else besides the weirdness of everything that happened in the meeting. Even now, standing under the scalding spray of his shower, he’s going through the motions, but his mind is in the hallway outside the conference room with Ingenium.

“I’m sorry about lying to you regarding Architect,” Ingenium had said solemnly. They’ve grown and their costumes had both changed since then, but without his helmet on, head bent to discuss something quietly, Shouto was reminded of the in-class exercises they used to do in high school. Off to the side in a hallway, as if creating a strategy. Somehow adult-Ingenium had gotten even more serious than his high school counterpart. “I know it was wrong to mislead you, but I knew he meant no harm. I knew he could help with Kou.”

“How?” Shouto had asked, but even then he had a feeling he knew the answer.

“…I’ve worked with him before,” Ingenium admitted. “I know the law, but he…he just wants to help people. And he does good hero work.”

Ingenium couldn’t say afterwards if he thought Architect would still somehow help the case. He knew he would want to, but with more people involved, and more people who knew he had been there before, it would be harder. Shouto can’t articulate exactly why, but somehow knowing he might be what brings more scrutiny towards Architect makes him feel…guilty? It’s not his fault that he didn’t know, nor is it his fault Architect is technically doing something illegal, but he feels guilty anyways.

Shouto’s phone chimes just as he steps out of the shower. Even before he checks it, he knows it’s a new text from Midoriya. While Shouto has thought of little else but the weirdness that had transpired at the debriefing for the last three days, Midoriya has acted as if it never happened. He had been quiet the rest of the day afterwards, but the next day Midoriya had picked up their text chat where they had left off as if nothing had happened. The few times Shouto tried to broach the topic of Midoriya’s behavior at the debriefing, his contacts with heroes, the vigilante Architect, anything from the debriefing, all he got was an abrupt subject change or radio silence for a few hours. After a day and a half of the back and forth, Shouto gave up pushing the subject. For now.

Shouto slings a towel around his hips and grabs his phone off the counter. There’s a new picture attached to the message. Midoriya’s scarred hand holds a large navy book out in front of the camera. The sidewalk serving as a background and the blurred edges of the image suggests he was walking somewhere as he took the picture.

I found a copy of the book!! The text underneath reads.

Shouto can’t make out any title in the picture, but he knows what book it is anyways. There was only one they had really discussed in-depth that would warrant such an excited text. It was an early study of dual quirks. Apparently, according to Midoriya, some of the information and conclusions they came to is now outdated but it is still considered one of the best introductory texts for understanding how dual quirks come about with inheritance. He had been suggesting it to Shouto practically since they had started their text conversation.

Another text comes in before Shouto can come up with a reply.

I can keep this copy in my office, if you would like to come by for it sometime.

Shouto wouldn’t mind going by the professor’s office again. It wasn’t that far out of his way, and it would be a good excuse to see him and talk to him some more – either about quirks, or whatever the hell was going on at the debriefing in an environment he can’t escape so easily. But as he mentally goes through his schedule thinking of a time he might be able to get there, it would be at least another week, if not two.

Shouto grimaces, running a hand over his face.

between normal wrk nd this new case itll be a while…

Of course I understand you’re busy! Oh unless you wanted to read it sooner

Shouto glances at the time. He still has almost two and a half hours before his next shift starts. It would be enough time. Probably. Depending on how long it takes to get Midoriya to agree. He has an idea but he knows Midoriya isn’t going to like it.

are u in musutafu now?

Yes. Of course! I could drop it off at your agency!

i was thinking just my apartment

Shouto puts his phone down to find something to wear. He doesn’t usually wear normal clothes under his uniform, but he figures he has a little while before he needs to change into it. He expects to get a flurry of messages protesting his suggestion as he finds and pulls on a pair of sweatpants, but a full three minutes pass before his phone chimes with another message. It just reads: what, lacking even Midoriya’s usual proper grammar and capitalization.

Shouto snorts. He knew he wasn’t going to like it.

im at the hospital on guard today and ill be out of the office the next few days. it would be quicker

That does set off the flurry of texts he expected the first time, Midoriya insisting that wasn’t necessary and he didn’t need to read it that quickly and a few that just said no a few times. The texts are still coming in, the notification that he’s typing still lit up on the screen, when Shouto presses the phone icon next to his name and starts a call.

The phone starts to ring. And then continues to ring for so long, Shouto thinks he’s going to go to voicemail, when Midoriya suddenly answers. There’s a shuffle on the other line for a moment.

“Entro-er, Todoro…hello?” Midoriya says.

“Hello, Midoriya,” Shouto replies.

Shouto’s simple greeting seems to knock Midoriya out of his stupor, because he immediately jumps back into his protests, picking right back up where he left off in his texts. Shouto waits until he has to stop to take a breath.

“I figured you would really frown upon me texting you my address, so I thought I’d call. Do you have something to write with?”

Midoriya sputters for a moment before he sighs. “You…yeah, go ahead.”

Shouto blinks in surprise. He really expected more of a protest than that. Still, he rattles off the address before Midoriya comes to his senses and changes his mind. Midoriya has him repeat it once, just to be sure he copied everything down correctly.

“Okay. I guess I will see you in a few minutes,” Midoriya says, sounding resigned.

Shouto almost laughs at the tone. “You don’t actually have to bring it to me if it’s any trouble. I can get it from the office eventually.”

“No, I don’t mind and it’s not that far out of the way actually,” Midoriya admits. “I’m a little concerned by your complete disregard for privacy or self-preservation but otherwise, it’s no trouble.”

“‘A lack of self-preservation and privacy’ is pretty much in my job description.”

Midoriya sighs. There’s some quiet mumbling Shouto can’t make out through the phone before Midoriya seems to give up on arguing the point for the moment and says his goodbye.

Shouto plugs his phone in by the bed to charge until he has to leave. Monarch and Momo still haven’t let go of the last time his phone died while he was on duty and he’s sure even being away from the agency for the next few days won’t save him from their ire if it happens again.

Shouto is still toweling off his hair when there’s a knock on his door. He glances at the clock on his wall, but even without the visual confirmation, he knows it has only been a few minutes since his call with Midoriya had ended. It was unlikely he found his apartment that quickly. He throws the towel over the bar in the bathroom and grabs a t-shirt on his way out of his room.

He opens the front door, expecting to see one of his neighbors in the hall. Instead, it is Midoriya staring at him from the other side of the door. He looks almost the exact same as the first time they had met with his thin, crooked wire frame glasses and oversized leather satchel hanging at his side. Though he had replaced his ill-fitting cardigan with a Froppy sweatshirt and a jean jacket over a button-up. Midoriya’s eyes scan over him quickly, pausing briefly at his middle before jumping back to his face and then to the space next to his head.

“Hello,” Midoriya manages quietly.

Shouto tugs the bottom of his shirt the rest of the way down.

“Hello. I…wasn’t expecting you to find the place so quickly,” he replies simply.

“Um, yes, it was closer than I realized too,” Midoriya finally looks him in the eye again, only to look away a moment later to bow his head. “I’m sorry, I should have announced myself somehow.”

“It’s fine, Midoriya. I’m glad you didn’t have to go too far out of your way.”

They stand in an awkward silence for a moment before they both seem to remember themselves and try to speak again.

Midoriya fumbles with the leather bag at his side, searching for the book. “Right, I’m sure you need to finish getting ready for work-” he starts to say.

At the same time, Shouto steps back, opening his door further. “Would you like to come in?”

Midoriya stares at him in surprise for a moment before his gaze jumps to something behind Shouto, brow furrowing.

“Todoroki, do you live alone?”

“Um, yes?” Shouto glances over his shoulder but doesn’t see whatever it was that Midoriya must have seen.

He turns back around, but Midoriya is still staring hard at something in the distance.

“Midoriya, what did-"

A loud crash of breaking glass cuts off the rest of Shouto’s question. Midoriya reacts a second before him, grabbing Shouto’s arm and throwing them both down the hall, away from his door as flames erupt in the apartment behind him.

They tumble to the ground. Shouto lands hard on his back as they roll for a moment, the floor below him and Midoriya landing heavily on top of him knocking the air from his lungs. One of Midoriya’s hands cushioned his head in the fall, but he pulls it back quickly as if Shouto burned him.

Midoriya quickly lifts himself up, carefully checking Shouto over. “Are you alright?”

Shouto nods, not yet ready to try speaking again. The sound of a vicious fire cracks behind them and the smell of smoke is already starting to fill the hallway. Whatever was thrown has a fast-moving fire and Shouto can feel the heat even from a few feet away.

“Will your fire alarm alert the authorities?”

Shouto pushes himself to a sitting position . “Don’t have a fire alarm,” he chokes out. They really need to move. “They go off too easily.”

Midoriya stares at him for a moment like he’s lost his mind before realization dawns. “Right your quirk would probably make that a pain. Okay, I’ll call for help. But we need to get as many people out as we can before they get here.”

Shouto climbs to his feet, using the wall to hold himself up for the moment. Everything seems to feel okay, so he doesn’t think he’s injured, just winded. Midoriya looks worried but he still scrambles to his feet a moment later.

“I can get my upstairs neighbors out,” Shouto says.

“I’ll help everyone below evacuate,” Midoriya offers before Shouto has barely finished speaking. He takes off for the stairwell, glancing back at the last second. “Be careful, Todoroki.”

Shouto stares after him for a moment, incredulous. ‘I’m the pro in this situation,’ he wants to remind Midoriya. ‘And probably marginally more fire-resistant than you.’ “You too,” is all he manages instead as the stairwell door swings shut behind Midoriya. Faintly, Shouto remembers another time he watched a civilian run head-long into trouble, but he brushes off the otherwise long-forgotten memory. It was so long ago, he’s not sure what dredged up the old memory, but dwelling on it won’t help anyone right now.

Shouto forces himself away from the door and his desire to go after the apparently reckless, mysterious, crazy-overachieving civilian he just let run into danger and heads for his closest neighbor. There are only three apartments on each floor. The one next to him has been empty for months, and usually both of the Fukudas were at work during this time of day, but he pounds on the door just to be safe, calling for them both. Smoke is finally beginning to fill the hallway and he knows it will only be another minute or two before the fire itself begins to crawl its way out of the apartment too.

Shouto breaks through the door, calling for either of the Fukudas to answer as he darts through the handful of rooms laid out in a mirror of his own familiar apartment. Satisfied that it is empty, he goes back to the hall heading for the stairs. He can feel his right side rapidly growing colder as his quirk tries to regulate his body temperature. The overheated air burns his already sore chest as he runs.

Shouto is already shouting as he reaches the next floor, hoping to alert as many of his neighbors as he can. One door opens as he throws himself down the hall, an older woman looking at him suspiciously through the crack in her door. For once he’s thankful for his unique appearance because he sees recognition dawn on her a moment later, even without his hero suit.

“A fire started on the floor below, I’m trying to evacuate everyone on this floor and the next, if you have anyone home with you, get them!”

The woman nods in understanding, throwing her door open and running back into the apartment calling for someone. Shouto goes to the next closest apartment, banging on the door and calling for anyone who might be inside. The door to the apartment next door opens and a man looks out.

“What is all the racket about? They went to their parents for the week, no one is in there.”

“The apartment is empty right now?”

The man glares at him, but Shouto pushes on before he can start an argument with him. The first woman comes out of her apartment with her grandson and a small dog in tow. “Sir, there is a fire on the floor below. We’re evacuating everyone.”

The man still looks like he wants to argue, but a moment later the sound of sirens grows louder as help arrives on the scene and that seems to be enough to convince him to cooperate. The three tenants follow him up the stairs to the last floor. Two of the three doors are already open, the tenants looking out obviously wondering what all the noise is about. The woman and her grandson greet one of the two women, immediately filling them in on what’s going on. Shouto goes to the last door.

“She’s at work,” one of the women calls to him. “She lives alone. Except for a cat.”

Shouto nods his thanks for the information. “I’ll go in to get the cat. Do either of you have a window that faces the front of the building?”

The other woman raises her hand. “I do!”

“Please take everyone into your apartment, clear a space in front of the window if necessary and I’ll be there in just a moment.” Shouto instructs. He waits just a moment to make sure everyone is complying before he forces the last door open. The cat in question makes itself known immediately, rushing to the door crying for attention before it realizes he is not their owner. The cat turns tail and darts deeper into the apartment.

Cursing, Shouto uses ice to create a small blockade in the hall that leads to the bedroom and bathroom, limiting the cat’s escape routes as he darts after it, sliding across the hardwood floor leading into the hallway. He catches himself on the wall just as the cat skids to a halt before the ice, trying to turn quickly but the floor is more slippery than its accustomed to and Shouto manages to grab it as it struggles to find its footing. He gets a few heavy scratches across his arms for his trouble, and the cat does its best to escape his hold, but he manages to get it out of the apartment. He wishes he had his tool belt on him, where he might have something that could contain the cat better, and make it easier to transport, but even if the fire-resistant fabric had lasted this long, it wasn’t worth it to try and get back into his apartment for it.

He rejoins his neighbors in the other apartment. Along with the three from the first floor, there are the two women from this floor, one of whom clutches a still-sleeping baby to her chest. From the window he can see the ambulance and two fire engines that have already arrived. And based on the sounds in the distance, the police and at least one more ambulance would not be far behind. Someone offers to take the disgruntled cat from him as he throws open the window.

Smoke is billowing from a window on a lower floor, obscuring his line of sight for a moment as the winds shift. Shouto swears under his breath, he can feel his neighbors growing anxious behind him, but he knows he needs a clear shot of the ground for this to work. It takes a few minutes for the view to clear enough for him to see a good landing place. By then a few people from the lower floors have started to evacuate, and he can see the first responders meeting them as they come out. He can’t tell from here if Midoriya is with them yet, though he has a feeling the answer is no.

Pushing his concerns aside for the moment, Shouto takes a deep breath to focus. Even after all these years of playing catch up, he still has a much better control of his right side than his left, but the overheated air is already putting a strain on his right side as it keeps his body cool. He creates an ice ramp, or perhaps more accurately a slide, from the window to the ground besides one of the fire engines. It’s as far as he dares to go to keep the slide from being too steep without also becoming too thin. He reinforces the part connected to the building and as much of the underside as he can from where he is to keep the fire from melting it down.

He turns back to his gathered neighbors. The adults gathered look unsure at best, if not down right afraid, but the young boy looks excited.

“It’ll be cold going down, but you should be perfectly safe,” Shouto promises. “Who’s first?”

Shouto helps the first woman up to the window. Once she is down safe, the woman with her baby goes, climbing up by herself first before Shouto hands the infant off to her. The young boy volunteers next before his grandmother can stop him, scrambling up to the window and then asking Shouto to hand the dog up to him. The older woman goes next, clutching the terrified cat tightly to her chest as she disappears down the slide.

Shouto waits until the older man safely reaches the bottom after her before he prepares to go down himself. Taking one last look back before he drops, he sees the smoke begin to curl around the edges of the apartment door.

 The fire chief stops Shouto first once he’s down, thanking him for his help evacuating the civilians and asking about the conditions inside. Shouto gives as much information as he can about the fire and where it started. He ignores the concerned expression the chief gives him as he explains how it began. He knows it seems like an attack, and a targeted attack at that, but he doesn’t want to focus on it just yet. Eventually, the chief figures he’s gotten as much as from Shouto as he’s going to for the moment and sends him off towards the paramedics.

Shouto dodges them for the moment, finding the neighbors he helped down first to make sure everyone actually made it down unharmed. Everyone seems okay, the baby somehow still blissfully asleep and the young boy excitedly asks Shouto if he can go down his ice slide again some other time. One of the first responders found a carrying case for the cat until they could get ahold of its actual owner. He recognizes a few of the other neighbors gathered around from the lower floors. A few have shock blankets on and one person is perched in an ambulance with a paramedic attached to an oxygen machine, but there don’t seem to be any major injuries.

Midoriya is arguing with a paramedic, insisting someone else is in more pressing need of care when Shouto finally approaches one of the ambulances.

“What’s that saying about doctors being the worst patients?” Shouto asks.

Midoriya jumps, startled by his arrival, though he quick recovers from his shock to glare at Shouto.

The paramedic throws his hands up. “Entropy, please try and talk some sense into him. This is the fourth time he’s refused care.” The paramedic turns back to Midoriya and waves a warning finger at him. “I’m running out of other patients to look at.” He warns before storming off.

“Are you alright? What happened?” Shouto asks once they’re alone. Midoriya mostly looks okay, his glasses are missing and he’s a little sooty and disheveled, but Shouto figures everyone probably looks about the same in that regard.

“Nothing,” Midoriya starts to say as someone nearby loudly clears their throat over him. Midoriya scowls. “I think I might have landed on my hand funny earlier, but it’s fine, probably just sore.”

Shouto frowns. “You should at least have someone look at it, just in case.”

Midoriya opens his mouth to argue but a ringing phone cuts him off. He fumbles with his phone for a moment, struggling to pull it out of a pocket with his opposite hand. He winces as he finally pulls it out.

“Shit.”

“What?”

“It’s a video call.” Midoriya doesn’t elaborate anymore. He shifts around before he answers, holding the phone up at an angle that keeps his arm and the ambulance mostly out of the camera. He pastes on a bright smile. “Hi, Eri.”

“Oh Izuku, are you okay? I heard you were involved in a fire. Are you injured? What happened?” Dr. Aizawa asks in a rush, her worried face fills the screen. Red eyes move quickly, obviously taking note of Midoriya’s disheveled apperance.

“I’m fine. Everyone’s fine. We’re not sure exactly how it started yet,” he lies. “But no one was hurt.”

“Where are you? I’ll go-”

“No,” Midoriya cuts her off. “I’m fine and I’ll come by the hospital later so you can check me over yourself if you’re really that worried, but I’m fine. And I want to make sure someone is keeping an eye out for Kou.”

“You think this has to do with her?” Dr. Aizawa asks, surprised.

“I’m not sure yet, I would just feel better if I knew there was extra security around her.”

Dr. Aizawa nods. “Okay, Izuku. I’ll make sure someone has an eye on her at all times. I’ll call you later to check up on you.” She says. “And I’ll know if you don’t let the paramedics check on you so don’t even try it this time.” The call ends before Midoriya can refute her last statement.

“I’m supposed to be taking the next shift on the hospital,” Shouto realizes. “I still had another two hours before my shift began when you arrived, but I should let someone know.”

Midoriya offers Shouto his phone. Before Shouto can step away, the paramedic returns with his arms crossed.

“Ready to cooperate?”

Midoriya looks miserably over his shoulder at Shouto but lets the paramedic force him into a seat.

Shouto calls Momo on her private number.

“This is Creati.” Momo answers stiffly after a single ring.

“Momo, it’s Shouto. My phone is…I don’t have my phone right now. There was just a fire-”

“At your apartment building. I know I just got the alert. Are you okay? You were still home, weren’t you?”

“Yes. I’m fine. No one was injured, but they’re still putting out the fire and I’m pretty sure my apartment is gone. It started there.”

Momo takes a long time to reply. “Your quirk?” She finally asks, but she sounds like she already knows the answer.

“No. I think…It seems crazy, but…” Shouto hesitates. He lives on the third floor, but crazier things have probably happened to him. “I think someone threw something through my window to start it.”

Momo curses under her breath. “I was afraid of that. You haven’t heard from anyone else, yet, have you? There was another attack, across town. Not a fire, but a building came down. A few civilians were hurt, and…”

Shouto tries not to lose his patience with Momo as she hesitates.

Finally she sighs. “The latest report from the police just came over the radio. Mr. Smith was one of the only heroes in the area. He was severely injured while helping trapped civilians. Paramedics rushed him to the hospital a few minutes ago. No one’s sure of his status yet.”

“Fuck.” Midoriya was right. “This is about Kou. The girl from before you have to-”

“I know your schedule, Shouto.” Momo interrupts. “As soon as I got the alert I let them know you might have been targeted. Someone has already been assigned to your guard shift and they’ve added extra security to the hospital.”

Shouto feels himself relax for the first time since the fire began. If there’s one thing he can count on, it’s Momo to be on top of things. “Thank you.”

Momo replies with a quiet hum of acknowledgement. “Is there anything else I can do for you right now? Do you need anyone else at the scene?”

“No, everything seems pretty well in hand for now. But if you could let my mother and sister know, that would help. They’ll see it on the news eventually, but even if my phone survived the fire it will probably be a while before I can get it to contact them myself.”

“Of course, I’ll make sure they know you’re alright. Can I contact you on this number again?”

Shouto glances back at Midoriya. He’s, miraculously, still sitting in the ambulance doors letting the paramedic wrap his hand, but he also managed to call over one of the firefighters to discuss something about the attack. “Yeah, you can use this number again.”

“Let me know when you learn something more.”

“I will.”

“I’m really glad you’re okay, Shouto.” Momo says just before she ends the call.

Me too, Shouto thinks, looking around at all the people gathered in front of the apartment. He and Midoriya had managed to get everyone out, but if Shouto had been alone he might not have been quick enough. Hell, if he hadn’t been answering the door at just the right time, he might not have been able to save anyone at all. He would probably be right beside Mr. Smith in the hospital. I just wish it could be said for everyone.

Shouto returns to the ambulance, passing the cell back to Midoriya. Midoriya takes one look at his face and knows.

“You heard about Mr. Smith too?”

Shouto nods. “Creati already sent word to the hospital for extra security and for someone to cover my shift watching Kou.”

Midoriya cracks a small smile. Other than the one he wore to briefly pacify Dr. Aizawa, it’s the first smile Shouto thinks he’s seen from him all day. And bizarrely, it puts him at ease for a moment, lifting some of the weight of the attack.

“Remind me to send her a huge thank you gift when we finally get out of here,” Midoriya says, and even though Momo is just doing her job in her own efficient, overachiever way, he knows Midoriya is serious.

Midoriya moves over, offering the extra space for Shouto to sit down. Another paramedic almost immediately descends on them, finally checking Shouto over for shock, smoke inhalation, over-extended quirk usage, and other injuries. Other than the handful of cat scratches that they clean and bandage, he comes out with a clean bill of health. Midoriya is comparing their injuries, complaining that his “bruised wrist” didn’t need more bandaging than Shouto’s cuts, but while his tone is light, his eyes keep focusing on something in the distance, his attention obviously not on their conversation. Shouto can practically hear the wheels turning in his head as he thinks.

The fire chief eventually joins them as the fire dies down and more of the firefighters exit the building for the last time. “Thank you again, Entropy, for your help evacuating tenants before we arrived. And…Midoriya, was it?”

“Dr. Midoriya,” Shouto corrects when Midoriya simply nods. Midoriya elbows him in the side, but Shouto ignores the jab.

“Dr. Midoriya, thank you for your help as well. That was very brave of you. A number of the tenants I’ve spoken with were extremely grateful for your assistance.”

Midoriya shrugs a shoulder, as if he had truly done nothing of note. “I’m just glad I was in the right place to help, at the right time.”

“Do we know anything else about the fire yet? Or the building?” Shouto asks.

“The fire is mostly out, we just have a few more people inside checking for any hidden fires or areas that weren’t extinguished completely the first time. As for the building…it will take a little while longer to properly assess all the damage but the third floor where it started, and the second and fourth floors, took the most damage. At the very least it will be a day or two before it’s safe for the tenants to move between the floors to get their things.” The chief explains.

Shouto expected about as much, honestly he was prepared to hear worse, but it doesn’t make it easier. “Thank you for letting us know.”

The chief nods. “Of course.”

Shouto turns back to Midoriya as the chief walks away. “Can I borrow your phone one more time?”

Midoriya politely, but unnecessarily, turns away as Shouto crafts a text to Momo.

the tenants will b displaced for at least a few days. can we do smthing abt accommodations for them?

It only takes Momo a few seconds to reply.

Of course. Send me the number of people and their contact information and I’ll take care of everything.

A second text comes in almost immediately.

Will you need something too? You could always stay with me and Kyouka. Or I’m sure your mother would be happy to have you for a few days.

Shouto stares at the message for a moment. “Shit.” He hadn’t been thinking about himself. Obviously he couldn’t stay in his apartment. But he wouldn’t want to be housed anywhere near his neighbors, in case whoever attacked tried again. But that would put his friends, or family, in the same line of risk.

“What’s wrong?” Midoriya finally turns back, looking over Shouto’s shoulder. “Was there another attack?”

Shouto shakes his head. “No, sorry to worry you. Momo just reminded me I’ll need a place to stay for a while. I don’t want to risk a hotel or some public housing, if they try to attack again…”

Midoriya doesn’t need him to finish his thought before he nods in understanding. “And you don’t want to stay with your friends or family for the same reason. There’s too much of a risk they will try to target you again.”

Shouto groans, running a hand over his face. Maybe Midoriya was onto something with all his concerns about ‘privacy and self-preservation.’

“Stay with me.”

Shouto’s head shoots up. He thinks he had to have misheard, but the serious expression on Midoriya’s face suggests otherwise.

“What?”

“You can stay with me. No, you should stay with me.”

Shouto feels like he was just transported to a parallel universe. He was actually fairly confident his role as the only one to suggest ridiculous things in this newly-started relationship was already established.

“I-No. I couldn’t ask that of you.”

“You’re not asking, I’m insisting.”

Shouto ignores him. “I can stay in the dorms at the agency.”

Midoriya rolls his eyes. “That’s an extremely short term solution, at best. And a huge risk. If these villains have kept close enough tabs on you to find your personal apartment and attack it, it would be child’s play to figure out you were staying in your office, with a publicly available address, and target it too.”

“You would still be at risk,” Shouto says, baffled as to how Midoriya somehow managed to miss that very important fact. “The same way Momo and Kyouka or my family would be, I can’t put you in that position.”

“Todoroki,” Midoriya says, deadly serious. “You are not a very social hero. It is common knowledge who you are close enough with to consider a friend. And your family has been in the spotlight for years. Staying with any of them is an obvious and dangerous choice. I’m a nobody. No one knows me, no one knows you know me. Also my house is…private, secluded. Even if someone does eventually figure out you’re there, it will take much longer than any of the other places. Enough time that we can come up with another plan.”

Midoriya reaches over and takes the cell out of his hands. “Now, unless you have a more convincing argument, I will text…” he looks at the phone for a long moment as he trails off. Shouto has no idea how he can casually insist on Shouto staying with him and in the same breath be visibly uncomfortable texting a different hero. “I will text…Creati and tell her you have a place to stay. You should go collect everyone else’s information for her.”

Shouto stares at Midoriya in disbelief while he pointedly ignores him and struggles to craft a text to Momo. He only finally moves when Midoriya all but shoves him off the ambulance step, claiming to be unable to type while he was being watched.

“I…can’t make sense of you,” Shouto finally admits. Midoriya has baffled him basically since the moment they met and he’s beginning to think he might never fully understand him.

Midoriya looks up from his phone with a curious expression, as if surprised by Shouto’s admission, before it transforms into a smile Shouto has never seen before, but that he wants to pull from him again and again.

“I like to think that’s just a part of my charm.”

[toomanytakennamesagh]

TSC Villains: Ranked from Most to Least Favorite

Listen, I adore The Shadowhunter Chronicles, but the villains have always been iffy for me. This list is purely opinion based, not factual at all.

Note: I havent included Samael or Janus. Samael, cuz I havent reached his parts yet in TLBOTW; Janus, cuz I wanna see how he is in TWP first before making any opinions of how he is as an antagonist.

1. The Cohort- Probably makes me a hypocrite since, much like the others, they're also cartoonishly evil with no redeemable qualities at all. But! Theyre memorable! This is villainy at its most entertaining! Every scene a Cohort member (cough cough Zara cough cough) was in, I kept wanting them to die, get smacked around, have their spine get ripped out and crunched. I felt something more than apathy or vague disappointment!

2. Shinyun Jung- In the spin-offs but she still counts! I didn't like how cartoonishly evil she became in the second book. Like, at all. Still way higher cuz of her portrayal in the first book, her interesting relationship with Magnus, and having a lot of good lines. Bigger bigger disappointment than Annabel and Malcolm, but at least I enjoy her more. Heck, one could even say I liked her.

3. Annabel Blackthorn- An even bigger disappointment than Malcolm. We did not get to know her very well, but at least some of her scenes were memorable. I appreciate Cassie's efforts in trying to write a non-evil villain.

4. Malcolm Fade- Truly disappointing villain. I thought I'd put him higher, but at a reread I realized he wasnt there that often. I really did like his absemtminded persona in the beginning, and he was actually close to killing Tavvy if it weren't for the Blackthorns finding hom out in time. He even got to resurrect Annabel successfully! Even if it ended horribly for him, he technically won in the end. Also. The diary entries in the cottage. Breaks my heart for what could have been, and makes me want to see a short story about their doomed romance.

You know what, maybe I put him so high cuz Im a sucker for a tragic romance. I did say this list was purely opinion-based.

5. Tatiana Lightwood- Putting her around the lower middle cuz so far I don't really...feel anything for her? I like her feelings and relationship with Jesse and Grace? The dress parrallel with Miss Haversham makes a super cool image? I'd have liked it more if we got to see some complicated feelings towards her brothers, cuz really all I saw was blind hate/willful ignorance towards their father's death, and some annoying complaining about them not giving her enough. Just /some/ sign of attachment, or grudging fondness towards their childhood. Maybe we'd hear more about the relationship with their father? Idk, her scenes in the books/extras dont even fill me with dread. She's just kind of...there for the conflict. But who knows? She could get better later on, we're only at one book for now anyways.

6. Sebastian Morgenstern- Don't care about this guy at all. Nope. He at least got some cool lines and sympathy points, where you actually got to see him in a casual setting, and his death and backstory were nice. Otherwise I hate him, demon blood!Sebastian was an irredeemable monster. Idk, I know that a villain can have no redeemable or human side whatsoever (ie Joker) and still be good. But I also know that I don't feel this way about him. Who knows? It's been a while since I've reread the whole series, so I can't really articulate the exact scenes or reasons why I put him this low, I just know what there's a reason.

7. Valentine Morgenstern- Would honestly been eighth place if it werent for his appearances in the spin offs, where you got to see him deal with the other Circle members. I didnt care about this guy much.

8. Axel Mortmain. I mean this one was obvious??? TID hada lot of good stuff in it, but it was definitely not the villain. I dont even... remember him?? Or a lot of his actions?? The only thing I found noteworthy was his backstory (10/10 good motivation) but it doesn't even do anything cuz a lot of the sympathy that can be gained there wasn't done correctly. I think I remember him finally being able to talk to his dad, and instead of being sad or touching-you know, cuz he finally met the father he lost- I didnt really feel anything of that? I dunno, I could be wrong. It's been a while.

[steponmepinkjun]

Sara I hope you dont mind me dropping this kind of ask, I just dont have anyone to talk abt this topic in particular and i have seen you open up about being neurodivergent multiple times.

All this time I believe that im neurotypical and always have to progress through life the way neurotypical people do, but from like 2 years ago i'm starting to question if i really am one bcs when I read about neurodivergency I slowly began to see myself in the description. How does one get um.. Diagnosed? I feel like theres sth abt myself that i havent figured out yet and I just want to know and love myself better.

Also forgive me for not being articulate enough, this is something im working out on.

Okay so I am obviously not a doctor or expert on neurodivergency, but I've gleaned a bit of knowledge from the nearly three decades I've spent being ND. So heres my advise.

First, I would begin with identifying why you'd like to seek an official diagnosis. Depending on what it is you're trying to diagnose, there are advantages and disadvantages.

Officially being diagnosed with ADHD gave me a sense of understanding I never had, gave a name to the symptoms that had been, quite honestly, ruining my life, and most importantly gave me access to the medication that completely turned my life around and made me a functioning human being. Even though I was diagnosed late in life (ie after school/developing years), I was still very lucky—my psychiatrist saw what the six previous ones I'd seen didn't. Before that, I was in treatment for depression and anxiety since age 11, had seen 13 therapists, and been on over 15 medications, to no avail. I'm lucky because a lot of obtaining a diagnosis for ADHD relies on self-reporting and reports from your parents—which is fucking stupid considering adhd is genetic, so my adhd parent probably isn't going to see my behavior as abnormal, IF they can even remember my behavior or payed attention to it. Despite those things, I was able to finally get diagnosed at age 22, and it changed my life. However, despite the fact that I suspected since I was a teenager that I might be on the autism spectrum (my brother, father, and several members of his family are), I made the conscious decision not to seek an official diagnosis. The medical community at large is incredibly ignorant and biased in regards to diagnosing autism in women, getting a diagnosis is ridiculously expensive, and unfortunately where I live an autism diagnosis can put you at significant disadvantage in the court system (it's often used as proof that an individual isn't mentally competent enough to do things like stand trial or be given sole custody of their own children, among other things). Plus, autism itself isn't treatable, so in my eyes I saw no benefit to getting a piece of paper telling me what I already knew. That's a personal choice that no one can judge another for—your reasons for seeking diagnosis are entirely valid whatever they are, and you owe an explanation to no one. I only wish to point out that not all diagnosis carry the same cost/benefit.

Getting a diagnosis can be a huge uphill battle, and it usually takes stamina and mental fortitude to get there. But everyone needs and deserves to have a community, a sense of understanding, and a support network, and wanting that alone is a more than valid reason to pursue a diagnosis.

So here's what I'd do. Get yourself in to see a psychiatrist (a therapist will do IF they have the training to diagnose, not all do), and do some research beforehand. Things as simple as googling "I think I might have/be (insert neurodivergent term here, for me this would be ADHD or autistic)" can give you some good starting points for what traits/symptoms are common. And as you're doing your research, take notes! If you see something jump out at you that you super relate to or that puts a feeling you've always had into words, write it down, copy the phrase, include things like how often you feel that way and what age you were when you began experiencing that. If there are ND behaviors that your immediate family share, that is very relevant, and actually gives a lot of context as to if something is a ND trait, trauma response, or shared personality quirk. Bring those notes with you to your appointment, reference them, and take notes of your own with the Dr's feedback. If you feel like you're being dismissed, tell them that, if you feel dissatisfied with their assessment, say so, and ask what your options are going forward. You probably won't walk away with a solid answer in just one day, but it's a good place to start.

It usually doesn't hurt to seek out community online, either, provided you take it all with a grain of salt—I've found that doctors tend to minimize symptoms, while peers online tend to maximize them. Ie, the way ND tiktok has become a slew of "do you breathe oxygen? Here's why that might be a sign you have adhd" type vids. Get second and third and fourth opinions before you take something to heart, you know?

And (even though this may go without saying), while I am no doctor, I have amassed more knowledge of my own disorders (as well as cptsd, ho lawdy its a fuckin doozy) than perhaps any one person should, so if you're at all in my vein or neurodivergency then please feel free to reach out to me directly, I'm always open to offering advise or a friendly ear or a sounding board for thoughts and ideas.