#anyways! good luck with all your own writing endeavors :)

[strangerays]

more excerpts! (week of 7/10/2023)

after I wrote a surprise scene (which revealed to me a lot that I didn't know about Ray) the words just started to flow out of me. so I said "why not? I'll roll with that!" And! I've managed to add about 4k words to my book this week! I wanted to share some of that here ^-^

These scenes follow Ray after she leaves a birthday party. She's having a bit of a breakdown because she's just made a discovery, which must be kept a secret in order to protect her best friend.

By the time I started to pull myself out of the water, it felt like hours had passed. Tangles of my hair clung to my face and dripped cold water over my shoulders, down my hips. Sand like mud swallowed my feet. No stars shone. Clouds hid the moon. I couldn’t tell whether I had been crying. When I rubbed my eyes, my fingers were red with cold. A riled breeze made me shiver, pushing me up, onto the sand.             A cry of laughter erupted further down the beach. Reaching for my clothes, I eyed the group of kids through the waves of cattails.             The girls stood in water that looked like it was glowing green in the moonlight. Their hair was wet because they had been swimming too. The boys stood on top of rocks slippery with sea-spit. They were all laughing at each other. I looked away. My eyes burned from the salt and the dark.             I pulled my shirt on backwards over my wet body. When I was dressed, I rode my bike far past them, listening to frogs and the slap of an animal slinking deep underneath the water.             Mothouse was already closed, and Kath had gone home. I sat down on the bench outside and pulled my shoes off. My socks were wet. Chewing hard on my lip, I threw them in the trash can beside the bench.             I didn’t know what I was doing – I just knew I didn’t want to go home. There was so much inside me, so much that I never wanted to bring it home. Bubbling. Boiling. Threatening to spill. I needed to find a place to put it.

“Ray?”             With a start, I whirled around. I hadn’t realized I was standing so near Butternut Brook until I saw her, then I realized the marshy smell all around me, and the chirrup of crickets.             Jude was standing at the edge of her driveway, looking at me as though I had crawled out of the brook. She was wearing a pair of Stranger Things pajama pants.             “Your clothes are wet,” she said. “Have you been swimming?”             I couldn’t tell if she was really there or not. Somehow, she always managed to be there when I needed her. Without asking for her. Her hair was wavy like she’d been bundled in a blanket for hours. Neither of us were wearing shoes or socks. It was a peculiar night. “Yeah.”             She left her driveway, stepping closer to me. Behind her shoulder, all the lights inside the one-story house were shut off. I wondered whether she was home alone, or she stayed up late, like Lonan and I. Boxes were piled on the doorstep.             “You’re shivering,” she said. Her voice sounded sleepy, like she hadn’t spoken a word for hours. “How long have you been out here? I thought you were going to a party.”             My lip trembled. “I wanted to go home.”             “But you’re all the way out here.”             My eyes filled with tears. Jude pressed her lips together into a nervous smile.             “You’re crying.”             My bike fell to the ground. Instead of catching it, Jude’s hands found my waist, pulling me into a tight embrace. She was shorter than me, so she buried her head in my shoulder, and I put my chin in her hair.             “I’m sorry,” I said. “I just… want to… stop.”             I was sobbing. Jude didn’t let me go until I stopped.

I also tried writing a chapter in Jude's perspective! Still not sure if I'm gonna keep it (I haven't finished it lmao) but since I have one from Lonan's perspective, I figured it couldn't hurt to try writing another character. I suck at making their voices different but that's totally ok in this draft right now!! I just wanted to get the idea down.

Ray was so eager to keep secrets. She gathered everything close to her and refused to let go, until they rotted. And, even when the things she loved had lost their luster, she protected them. It really annoyed me in a way, that some people were so fortunate to hold their lives in their hands like that. It made me want to stick around her, to help her protect those things she was so afraid of losing. It was late, and I didn’t have anything else to do. Even if I did, I was sure I would have chosen her the same.

That's all for now! I hope you enjoyed these snippets as much as I enjoyed writing them <3

[ego-osbourne]

*holds out a cup, like a beggar asking for bread crumbs* Spare written tips? Spare writing tips?

I saw your post on TDI outline(100? Chapters?!?!), also I'm in the miraak discord and saw your streams couple things outlining them.

I just... I feel so stupid, and I can't seem to get into writing(I know it gets easier with time, but). I can't seem to get past 1k to 2k words at a time in each chapter (if at all), and I'm not very articulate. 😭😭😭😭 How do you do it?

Genuinely though I’m sorry to say I have very few tips when it comes to writing. My process is long and slow. TDI is the first story I’ve done of this magnitude, and I haven’t had any story material to post since… 2020? (In which I deleted that story anyway).

Long text below

Purely, TDI is a passion project. I’m taking my time on it just to check and recheck things. I do what I like to the extent of my happiness, and that happens to be writing an extensive, lore-heavy, triple-checked story. I’d thought about TDI long before I wrote anything down, and truly, that first hurdle of just writing something is the biggest one. I’ve deleted drafts that don’t work, outlines that don’t work, idea lists, etc. etc. 75% of the process is just finding a system you like, in my experience. Once you find that, the next battle turns into actually figuring stuff out and jotting it down.

You’ll have rewrites, and scrapped chapters, and plot holes, and frustrating lore, ESPECIALLY if you’re basing it off of TES lore. Sometimes you won’t even like writing. That’s okay. No one is forcing you to do this if it’s a passion project. You’re your own boss, don’t beat yourself up for not getting something done or not finishing something quickly if it becomes enough of a chore to inhibit you. Writing takes a hell of a lot of time.

My 100+ chapter fic is not great because it’s 100+ chapters. A long story doesn’t mark a good one, a short story doesn’t mark a bad one. That’s just an option to choose, a flavor you like, whatever works best for you. Good stories come from passion, interest, and skill. And you can only hone your craft if you mess up first.

That’s the best advice I can give in terms of writing. I have never stuck with one singular process when writing. It changes every so often, and it changes due to my needs. It can do the same for you.

Best of luck on your endeavors! I hope my words are at least encouraging if not helpful.

[newathens]

been writing a hoo fanfic (au) and I had to stop because I realised that Jason is the son Hera always wanted but never had (she hates Hephaestus for being ugly, and Ares... well is Ares), and this led to him essentially... having no life. He was made to be the perfect leader and... he died. the worst part is that I don't think R*ck knows what he did there my mind is breaking.

you’re absolutely right but i have to correct the hephaestus & ares statements im sorry it’s my myth brain. so hephaestus isn’t ‘ugly’ in the sense of aesthetics i believe the reason hera hated him in myth is because of his leg disability and to her his disability made him ‘ugly.’ and then ares, yes, is actually just ares. his brash, angry nature made him unfavorable among the gods & the ancient world but there are some versions where hera prefers him and he is loyal to her.

anyway, you’re so right though, and i think that’s why she is so distraught over his death. so much that she took to wearing the tradition black & mourning veil like okay miss old-fashioned……

honestly i wouldn’t be surprised if hera considered jason more her own son than beryl’s son. not only was he the perfect hero but he has a lot of control & good judgment that many of the other demigods lack. traits that may remind hera of not only herself but the way zeus was considered in the ancient world. jason is the character of all time, i wish you luck in your fanfic endeavors

[lumpsbumpsandwhumps]

hello I feel like I owe you an apology for being so blunt with asking for the “pb/antifa whump”, I get that probably threw you and a lot of other people off. The reason I’ve been asking for this stuff was because I always thought that there could be a really interesting story with the theme of the pb/antifa, given their history with each other, and when I discovered this whump community I thought it would be interesting to see a story like that involving whump. But anyway, I’m sorry if it made you uncomfortable.

Friend, listen, I'm willing to play devil's advocate for you because liking whump really is something that involves a complicated moral standpoint for some people. I mean look at me, I'm happily making thirst traps of a serial killer who tortures and assaults his victims, and other people eat that shit up. Who am I to draw the line in the sand?

But that request is, I think, too real for most people's taste. At least here. PB brutalizing individuals personally and at rallies are already a dime a dozen, unfortunately. Why would I seek out a serialization of what I can get 20 news articles on from a Google search? That's not a narrative I or a reader can control to our liking, that's just a sad reality a lot of people have to suffer through.

Not to mention there's no fun in rooting for a villain like that. There's no comeuppance, there's no redemption, there's no sinister nature we can safely explore. Incredible, the white supremacist beats the shit out of someone who's more than likely queer/POC/underage/etc or any combination and faces no repercussions. That's not something a lot of people want to read for fun, especially when they themself are more likely to identity as the whumpee in this scenario, which further reinforces the horrible truth they already deal with in real life.

It'd be like asking for a KKK!Whumper and a BLM!Whumpee, or an ICE!Whumper and an immigrant!Whumpee, or a shooter!Whumper and a student!Whumpee. Can you seek out, or even write these situations yourself? Sure. Genuinely wouldn't surprise me if there are people out there who happily create that kind of content. But...why? Don't you get enough of that injustice in real life? Why does it being fictional make it any better when it honestly isn't as fictional as you think.

But then, of course, it all comes back around to: who am I to tell you what you can and can't like in whump? Who's anyone to say how far is too far when we go about our day mercilessly brutalizing (or killing) silly little characters for the fun of it? They don't get happy endings, they don't get justice, so why get upset over this?

I can't answer that, I'm not a sociologist or philosophy major. So I'll just say that that's territory that goes too far for me, and I think it does for most people here on Tumblr which is a fairly left leaning/liberal platform all things considered. You aren't going to find that kind of content from me. Now that's not say I might never write a whumpee character experiencing some form of verbal/physical assault due to their race/gender/orientation and so on, but it's not the focus and it's most certainly not meant to be the highlight of the arc.

If you genuinely want recc's for that, I'd recommend giving 4chan a browse. They love violence and owning the libs, I'm sure someone has a couple greentexts of what you're looking for at the very least.

And again, you're more than welcome to make your own content to share, but if that's the vibe you're going with then you're not going to get very many fans here. We do our best to put content warnings for EVERYTHING in our writing/art because different things trigger different people even if we're all in the same fucked up li'l community.

Good luck in your endeavors, my dude. You won't find it on my blog.

[totopopopo]

18 & 25 pretty please ! have a wonderful year ^^ !

18. A memorable meal this year

My group of friends had family dinner every week where one or two people would cook a meal for everyone and everyone would sit at a big table and eat and I’d have people go around and share their favorite and least favorite part of the week and I guess for this I’ll chose the first time me and my best friend cooked together for the family dinner, we made tacos and i smuggled in tequila (cause this was in the common room of our college dorm so no alcohol technically allowed) and one of my friends siblings made margaritas and it was just really nice :)

25. Did you create any characters (in games, art, or writing) this year? Describe one

Oof yeah so I mean the main creative endeavor I’ve been working on this year was my thesis and that actually took up many years, not just 2022, and so the character creation aspect of that took place between 2020 and 2021 so basically all of the writing I’ve done this year has been with characters I created before the beginning of the year. Especially because a large portion of my thesis involves pre-existing mytho-religious “characters” so like even if my version of, say, Papa Gede or Charon solidified and was technically created this year, I can’t claim to have created the characters themselves, and of course they’re only “characters” within the context of the creative work that is my thesis, but to call them characters in a greater sense within the context of their religions is inaccurate, reductive, and borderline insulting, and also wow this is a rant that nobody asked for and that even fewer people can understand because none of you EVEN HAVE THE CONTEXT OF MY THESIS LMAO… anyways.

I guess the character of Louie really didn’t solidify until early 2022 so maybe I can count him (even though his conception was earlier.) Louie is a character in my thesis project that I did for my BA in religion and that will, one day, god willing be a published work. He is a second generation Haitian American. He is about 24, and he works in a warehouse of a large grocery store in a failing city on the verge of physical collapse. He works in this warehouse with Lupe, the main character. He laughs often and easily, and though he’s soft-spoken, his laugh is bright and loud. He loves his mother. He loves to cook, and he’s not bad at it, though he’s not as good as his mother. Life is difficult, but he approaches it with a sense of humor and cheer that borders on defiance. Lupe, who is less sure of herself, and less sure of her ability to be happy, loves being around him, loves the person he is and tries to be, loves his laugh, and loves his company. When an earthquake hits the warehouse and he dies, Louie finds himself in a limbo space within the land of the dead along with the countless other souls who are either traveling to or do not know/cannot find/might not have a final destination among the many underworlds and afterlives. Lupe is looking for him. This is the crux of the story.

…that’s almost definitely ten thousand times longer than you were prepared for or than was necessary for the question, sorry. Woooooooo happy new year!! Good luck in your own creative endeavors! May this be a year of creativity in all forms :)))

[sucrows]

Was wondering if you have any advice on how to start writing nsfw? I’m talking about starting sentence 😭 I can’t manage to ever get pass that part because I don’t want to dive straight in but it’s so hard to build up? Any tips if possible are appreciated and it’s okay if not, your account is one of my all time faves so ❤️

my best advice? fuck it and go straight into writing the porn anyways. you can always go back to add the build up later. doing something out of order, messily, badly, etc, is always better than not doing it at all.

half of the time, i go into the part of writing that is most exciting for me first so as to get it all down on the page before the motivation wears off. If there's one specific image or sentence in the middle of the work that interests me more than the introduction, then i'll work on that first.

don't be afraid to be sloppy with your writing. don't worry if your sentences feel stilted or choppy. don't worry if you feel like your dialogue is awkward. don't worry about being cringe worthy or weird. just write, write, write. no matter how objectively "bad" your may feel your writing is, it can always be edited until you are satisfied. The only thing you can't edit is a blank page.

to me, the first 1-2 sentences are the most important for setting the stage. sometimes it's a line of dialogue, sometimes its a description of an action, sometimes it sets the location. there's no right or wrong way to write this introduction as long as it gets across the tone or theme of what i'm writing. I want to make it as obvious as possible from the get go what my writing is about. I usually just summarize what the whole fic is going to be about before going about describing the actions sequentially.

here's some examples of what i mean:

"While he may compare himself to a god, Nagisa’s nothing more than a follower within your arms." (nagisa + corruption)

"Despite all his thrashing and fighting, it’s painfully obvious how much Natsume wants you." (natsume + cnc II)

"It was hardly a second ago that you put your tongue to his head, now your nose bumps into Hiyori’s pelvis with every move." (hiyori + oral (receiving))

thank you for your praise and good luck with your own endeavors!

[votederpycausemufins]

All my knowledge is of hermitcraft and the stuff people have written for the Hermit!Tommy Au but I kept having this idea and needed to write it. I also think i got a bit out of character halfway through because it was supposed to be short, but i vibed with it too much so now it’s long and maybe not 100% accurate but it’s still angst followed by fluff.

also @petrichormeraki wanted me to tag them when i posted this.

Tommy had been with the Hermits for a while now. He hadn’t really kept track of when he first arrived, but it had at least been a few months. Otherwise, time was a mess. The Hermits has all but legally adopted him and all the joy that came from them caring for him made time seem to fly by.

Doc was fun to be around because while Tommy was perfectly fine never going back to the SMP, the way the man acted gave Tommy a small bit of familiarity in a good way to his past life.

He likes hanging out with False, mainly for sparring. Never anything deadly, but even if there wasn’t a need for Tommy to constantly look over his shoulder, it was good to keep from getting too rusty.

He doesn’t really hang out with Zedaph as much as Zedaph hangs out with him. Normally the Hermit would come out of the blue with something new for Tommy to try. Flicking levers over and over for something that would normally be as simple as using a furnace just became fun for Tommy, especially if he had energy pent up.

Xisuma is someone Tommy doesn’t run into much, but the fact that he doesn’t is something Tommy finds comfort in. Even as the server admin, the man is very down to Earth. Nothing like Dream ever was.

And then there’s Grian. Tommy got along with all the Hermits fine and of course there were some he preferred over others, but Grian took the cake for him. When he first showed up, Grian was the one to give him a place to stay at his old hobbit hole. Professor Beaks had been left there and still used to the SMP and scared for his life, Tommy hid the pet bird as leverage for his own safety. When Grian found out, he mostly shrugged it off, but the tens of chickens in the hobbit hole the next day was proof of retaliation.

Tommy didn’t understand the underwhelming response at first, but responded in kind, using the eggs from the chickens Grian had left to egg the Hermit’s base. When the builder nearly broke the door to the hobbit hole, Tommy grabbed his axe, ready to fight for his life, but was taken aback by the cheerful look on Grian’s face.

After that, Grian had practically taken Tommy under his wing. He showed Tommy how to build more effectively with cobble, eventually managing to get the teen to have some variety. Grian also brought Tommy along on his various chaotic endeavors, leaving behind chickens, mycelium, and possibly some missing doors.

The two chaotic red wearing Brits got along so well that they sometimes spent entire weeks together. Because of that, Tommy was all too aware that the Hermits participated in MCC as well.

It made sense. A few of the Hermits vaguely recognised him when he showed up in Hermitcraft and a few of them looked familiar to Tommy. That had made him feel a little safer since now these people weren’t complete strangers, but it did complicate things. Every so often, the portal to MCC would open and the Hermits participating would go through. The closest Tommy would get to the portal was just before the Hermits left, occasionally giving a ‘Good luck Grine!’ or something similar to Grian as he went through. But after that Tommy stayed as far away as he could manage.

The portal there led to MCC. And from there, there was a portal that led to the SMP. If Tommy could get to Hermitcraft, others could too. And that idea was terrifying, no matter who it was. Dream was a worst case scenario, but even if it was Tubbo. Tubbo had exiled him, and even if they were still on good terms after that, Tommy could have visited at some other MCC, but he didn’t, and that idea likely wouldn’t go over well, especially since otherwise, people probably thought he was dead and Tommy didn’t care to correct them.

But compared to all those other times, today was very different. Today Tommy wasn’t at the sidelines to help send off the other Hermits, he was one of the ones being sent off. They had taken every precaution. Mumbo had rebuilt his Spookification chamber for Tommy with some alterations, specifically removing the firework method of alteration. The teen was also dressed for being on a team with Grian as the Cyan Creepers, so his familiar red and white shirt was missing. But under Tommy’s costume, he still kept the chain necklace holding his compass. He refused to part with it, though made sure he would be hard to access to keep from glancing, knowing at the championships, it wouldn’t be spinning wildly anymore.

With a comforting pat on the back from Grian, he and the other Hermits walked through the portal. The crowd of people that were on the side almost immediately overwhelmed Tommy, making him think that it was a bad idea all over again, but the sight of the two other team members for the Cyan Creepers reassured them, especially as they lined up for the cameras for some fun and silly times. Then once the games began, he was too focused on winning to think of much else.

Before long, the championships were over. They had come in fifth, which was a bit disappointing at first, but on the other hand, it was still pretty good and kept the spotlight off of him. When dodgebolt began, Tommy stood next to Grian, but with a crowd of people, a good game, and no perfect place to sit, the both of them wandered for a better vantage point.

At one point, Tommy managed to push his way right up to the edge of the viewing ledge. It was the perfect place for a while until the action moved, causing everyone to decide it was the perfect place. Enough people moved nearby that Tommy was worried about falling into the pit below, and he almost did before someone pulled him back.

Tommy was ready to thank whichever Hermit or even other player helped him but the words died in his throat when he faced the person who grabbed him. He knew that mask and neon green color. And there was no reason for him to help Tommy unless-

“I finally found you!” Dream spoke. He raised his voice to be heard over the crowd, but not too much to draw the attention of others. Tommy froze as he definitely heard the words. But there was no way for Dream to know, he didn’t look at all like normal.

“I-I’m sorry.” Tommy tried not to stutter, hoping just the situation of being grabbed would excuse it. “But I don’t think I’m who you’re looking for. I’m new here. Unless you’re greeting me for being new.” It was something he prepared before in his mind after Grian brought up the possibility, but it felt sloppy putting it to use.

“Oh don’t lie Tommy. I know it’s you. I guess you got lost, but it’s okay, you can come back now. I got rid of the exile for you. Aren’t you glad?”

Tommy was glad for the mask that covered Dream’s face. He wasn’t sure he wanted to see Dream’s actual expression. “How did you-” He started to speak, but Dream cut him off, poking Tommy’s chest, right where the compass was.

“Weren’t you paying attention to the teams? Tubbo got put with me. And between games he just happened to glance at his own compass. And wouldn’t you know it, it led me right here.” Dream held up the compass that belonged to Tubbo. It looked damaged, and it was recent. Tubbo likely didn’t want to give the tyrant admin the compass, but lost it to Dream anyway.

“Give that back to Tubbo!” Tommy shouted at Dream, trying to snatch it from him.

“Feisty now, aren’t you? We can take care of that when you come back. I’ll also give it back to him if you come with me.”

Tommy froze. There was no way he was going back, but what could he do? Everyone was focused on dodgebolt, and he didn’t want his appearance to have caused more trouble for Tubbo.

Tommy glanced at the crowd one last time before reluctantly nodding. Dream grabbed his hand in a painful clench and dragged him out of the crowd towards the SMP’s portal to leave. However, just before reaching it, Dream stopped. Tommy, who had been looking back at the crowd, hoping someone would see what was going on, turned towards the portal to see Grian standing in front of it.

“Heya, where do you think you’re going. MCC isn’t over yet. Dodgebolt it still going on.”

Tommy expected Dream to just push past Grian or even give some sort of retort, but the actual reply was shocking. “Uh, n-no, just… have to head back early. Th-the game delays made things run over. A-and we’ve got to get b-back for… something else. Don’t w-want to be late for that.”

Dream’s words made Tommy so shocked he forgot to breathe. Dream was scared, no he was terrified. And he was terrified… of Grian. Tommy looked back at the Hermit who stood unflinching in front of them.

“Really? I could have sworn that you were here when I arrived, and that kid wasn’t. And he definitely came from a different portal. I know since I was keeping my eye out for my teammates. So why’s he going with you?”

“I uh…” Dream struggled, struggled, to give an answer, letting Grian continue. “That’s what I thought. C’mon kid, let’s go back to the crowd. You can stay with me until it’s over then I’ll help you find your portal back.”

And Grian took Tommy away without any retaliation from Dream. Tommy was left in awe. Grian wasn’t even an admin in Hermitcraft but Dream was terrified of him. It was amazing! But at the same time, it made Tommy spiral a bit.

When everyone returned, Grian had made sure Dream left before the Hermits and Tommy did so Dream couldn’t watch Tommy leave. Tommy stuck to False’s side as they walked through the portal, Grian being the last to come through as he continued to act as a guard. When he tried to comfort Tommy after his run-in with Dream, he understood when the teen responded he just wanted to go home. The championships were exhausting enough without a scare like that.

The next day, Tommy hung out with False. And then Zedaph, and then Doc. Grian noticed immediately, but didn’t pay much mind to it. He noticed since Tommy had spent a full week only hanging out with him, so the sudden absence of the boy was noticeable, but it made sense that he would want to hang out with the others.

After that, Grian didn’t pay too much attention to the lack of Tommy until he ran into him while stocking the barge. Tommy had been buying something at the store when Grian flew in. He nearly dropped his diamonds in trying to leave in such a hurry that it finally concerned Grian. The builder started visiting other Hermits Tommy tended to visit and ask about him. No one really noticed much other than Tommy dodging any questions about him possibly going to hang out with Grian.

Grian decided to leave it alone, and he was definitely going to, but after another run in with Tommy, he threw that decision out the window. Grian normally wouldn’t have done this, but after trying multiple times to just talk to Tommy and being unsuccessful, the builder had to essentially corner the teen.

Immediately, Grian regretted it. Tommy was trembling, obviously scared, holding a sword in his hand. He carefully tried to point out that Tommy didn’t need to have his sword out, but instead of just putting it away, Tommy just threw it on the ground, also throwing down his other gear. Grian had heard of Tommy doing this before with the other Hermits, so he immediately recognised what was going on and dived to grab the gear. It scared Tommy more, but Grian wanted to make sure nothing ended up destroyed.

“Tommy, calm down, I just want to talk. Did I do something wrong? I mean, obviously I must have, you look scared out of your mind every time I’m around you. But I can’t think or anything I did and I don’t want this to keep happening. So can I know what’s going on?”

Tommy didn’t speak for a while. He just looked defeated and terrified. Grian called in some of the other Hermits to come help Tommy calm down, though at first it didn’t help. But over time, Tommy finally did stop looking so terrified and they moved to somewhere he would feel less cornered. It took more coaxing after that, but finally, Tommy explained himself.

“He’s scared of you. Dream is… actually scared of you.”

“Yeah, I’ve killed him once or twice. Plus my full name is Lord Grian Dreamslayer, so it’s kind of in the name.” The builder tried to say it as a joke, but it didn’t seem to lighten the mood.”

“He’s the admin and he’s scared of you. And you… I’ve been hanging out with you.”

Grian nodded. “Well yeah, we do fit together well. ...Did he say something at MCC to make you think I didn’t like you?”

Tommy shook his head. “N-No. You’re right, you’re fun to be around. But dream likes… liked messing with me. And tried to train me. And I hang out with you more than I had with him, and I’m more like you. I-If you’re somehow more powerful than him-!” The rest of the words stopped in Tommy’s throat, choking him up. Stress was nearby and gave Tommy a careful hug for comfort, which helped him a little.

Grian waited a little bit for the tension to calm slightly before he spoke. “I don’t know exactly what Dream has done to you. You’ve told us a lot, but you obviously haven’t told us everything, and telling us isn’t the same as experiencing it. But let me tell you that I’m not going to do what he’s done to you. I remember how you were the first day we found you. And I see how you are now- well, how you were a few weeks ago- and I’m happy. Happy because you’ve been happy. You’ve been safe and cared for here and it shows. I don’t want to force you to be anything, I want you to be you. Sure, I’m powerful enough to kill Dream, but I’m not going to use that power on you. I’m only going to use it around you if it’s to keep him away from you.

“And! And! It’s just because of how your server is. Here we can go to the end. We don’t have a set amount of lives. We build massive structures and sell totems for a single diamond each. We fight Withers for fun and make farms with them. We farm just about anything you can think of. And Tommy.” Grian paused, making sure Tommy was paying attention. “You may be from somewhere far off that none of us old Hermits have seen, but now you’re here. And new home or not, that makes you a Hermit too. Sure you can be like me. Or you can be like False or Doc or Scar or Mumbo. But so far, you’ve been pretty you. And that you is a Hermit.”

Tommy took a few moments to process it, but the message seemed to get through to him. With that, Grian stood up with a smile. “Now I get that you probably don’t want to hang around me much right now. It makes sense. Maybe hang out with some other Hermits and learn some new stuff to get your mind off of things. Plus, I also did some talking around looking for you, and got you this.”

Tommy’s eyes practically sparkled as Grian placed down some music discs. He greedily grabbed the treasures and stuffed them in his inventory, looking up just to see Grian flying off. Taking on Grian’s idea, Tommy decided to go with Cleo and try to wrap his head around those armor stands again. While he wasn’t a pro, he did manage to make one scene of the hermits all holding weapons and surrounding an armor stand in lime leather armor. Grian was right. He was a Hermit. And he wasn’t going back. At least, not permanently, he thought, clutching his compass. Maybe, there would even be another Hermit like him.

[no-droids]

The Secret

Pairing: Anakin Skywalker/Reader

Word Count: 4.2K

Rating: Explicit

Summary: On a dark and dreary night, Anakin tries to see if he can influence your dreams.

A/N: idk what in the hell this even is tbh I just started writing it two days ago idk what happened this is some inception shit but not the crazy ass mind bending plot twist part at the very end of inception but like just the cool middle part where you kinda get what’s sorta going on but not really okay anyways I gotta go

Warnings: There are DUBCON/NONCON ELEMENTS to this, smut/oral sex, a splash of m/m (sorta?), dark Anakin uses the force to mess with your dreams without your knowledge or consent so please read at your own discretion

***

Anakin knows it’s wrong.

It’s the middle of the night on a moon he never bothered learning the name of and Anakin knows it’s wrong when his eyes shift over to you for the fifth time in the past minute.  Curled up with your back to him and the crackling firelight illuminating this tiny little cave, breathing soft and quiet through your nose as you sleep, the wind roaring monstrously outside.  Anakin acknowledges it—the moral impropriety of even sitting here thinking about things he shouldn’t be with you so close by.  It’s wrong, no getting around it.

But there’s also something inside him that… wants the wrongness.

He likes it.  Anakin likes having secrets, he likes breaking rules even when nobody is consciously here to witness it.  It makes him feel alive in a way that battlefields just can’t anymore, not after two years of constant conflict where the only enemies to feel his wrath have been comprised of nuts and bolts, their robotic cries never leaving him with any satisfaction anymore.  At the start of the Clone Wars, sure, it was a thrill to slice through voice boxes and body parts, even if they were mechanical.  But the droids aren’t afraid of death, they’re just programmed to stay alive.  It’s like killing large, dumb swarms of bugs—it needs to be done for the common good but there’s never any true fulfillment in it anymore, it just feels like a task to be completed instead of an earnest, hard-earned goal.

He’s also been given direct permission to do it.  He’s even been ordered to carry out enormous droid massacres on behalf of the Republic, but that’s the thing.  Anakin isn’t looking for permission, see, it takes away half the thrill.

No, he wants to feel wrong.  He wants to wonder if he shouldn’t have.  He wants the quiet guilt, the sparkle of holding a secret he’ll never breathe a word about, the addictive power trip from having real influence over something, something equally as real.

Technically, Anakin is supposed to be on lookout right now.  He’s meant to stay awake and patrol the perimeter of the cave for enemy combatants, but he doesn’t even bother pretending to be diligent when it’s just you two here.  It’s not necessary.  He’d be able to sense another lifeform miles away in this secluded, barren wasteland; there’s no threat to be found right now.  He can keep warm by the crackling firelight in this cave, sheltered from the dust storm that spontaneously broke out a few hours ago.  He can stay awake without moving a muscle and listen to your slow breathing all night long, letting it fill him with shameful desires he spends the daylight hours fighting and suppressing.

He silently flicks his gaze over to you once more, blinking as he studies you.  He can sense your mind becoming creative in its slumber, beginning to swirl into dreamlike possibilities around yourself, about to choose a path for your consciousness to follow tonight.  Yes, this is what he’s waiting for.  He can’t force you to dream—that’s beyond his expertise as a Jedi.  But if he finds himself in the right place at the right time, he can certainly try his best to… give you a suggestion.

The wind whistles outside and the fire pops quietly and you continue to breathe.  In, and out.  In, and out.

Anakin closes his eyes, and begins.

He first maps your body with the Force, trying to understand it on a deeper level.  Gauge it—its proportions, its ambience, the thrumming lifeforce flowing through your veins even as you sleep.  He has to be careful—as a fellow Knight, there’s no guarantee you won’t immediately be able to spot him exploring your energy in this way, there’s nothing to stop you from suddenly rolling over and asking just what exactly he thinks he’s doing.

But Anakin is patient.  It’s one of the only times he can remember truly exercising that untapped potential inside him, perfectly content to allow you to drift while he works to find his bearings with you.  Minds are complex, especially when they’re unconscious.  They’re finicky and never stay in the same spot for long—it’s not like they evade, necessarily, but instead, they just… float around.  Pulsing.  In and out of existence, hiding behind and under immovable things, no rhyme or reason for it, vanishing into uncertainty and nothingness as soon as he thinks he’s found it.  Like trying to find a microscopic air pocket in the depths of a pitch black ocean.  He’s not losing any oxygen by existing right at the edges of your sleep, but it takes hard concentration to stay here, hidden, not allowing himself to slip.  He’s looking, he’s looking… but he soon realizes he just needs to wait longer.  He needs to wait until you float your way back around to him, until you present the opening yourself.

So Anakin waits.

And waits…

And then suddenly—

—There.  He locks onto a flicker in the Force and holds, finally isolating and breaching the surface of your inner subconscious.  Anakin smiles softly, a bead of sweat slowly dripping down his temple at the effort it took to locate you without alerting you of his presence.  There you are.  Maker, it sure is pretty in here, isn't it?  He has you, he’s cradling the buried, hidden, most fragile part of your soul as you slumber, not knowing any better.

His heart thumps with excitement even though he’s barely done anything yet.  To someone without sensitivity to the Force, they might just think the both of you are asleep right now.  Just the two of you sitting still in this relatively small space, eyes closed, neither of you are touching, nobody has said anything or made any substantial movements in hours, nothing has changed in this world.  All of it is existing in another plane, a place most people wouldn’t be able to recognize unless someone informed them of its existence, and even then, it would be beyond understanding.

But he has you now.  He’s there, and he’s not going anywhere.  He can allow his focus to dip just slightly, knowing your mind will pull him along through the comatose current.  He senses you already working through the beginning whispers of dreams, but they’re not the kind people can ever remember.  These aren’t formed, there’s no substance to them—it’s just pure, abstract dreamspace for your mind to drift through while you slumber.

Finding your true consciousness through all the murky, shapeless slumber was the test in skill.  Now comes the luck.

Very carefully, without arousing any suspicion or drawing undue attention to himself, Anakin begins to drag the tip of his tongue against the back of his teeth.  He doesn’t open his mouth, he doesn’t move a single muscle outwardly—he just lets his tongue begin to flitter around slowly in its enclosed cavern as he breathes, making the movements as soft and hypnotic as he can, matching the aimless way you’re carrying your mind and his shadow through the darkness.

He’s tried this before.  Once or twice, with a pretty Ambassador he was tasked with protecting for a few months at the start of the Clone Wars, but the results were always less than ideal.  He could never seamlessly transfer his desires through her consciousness before she awoke, perhaps because she wasn’t Force sensitive.  The dream would either never happen, or he would push too hard and it’d turn into a rabid nightmare that fractured her thoughts and made her terrified to close her eyes for weeks.  Not this time, though, Anakin isn’t going to allow it.  Not with you, not after all the unprecedented effort it took to even just get himself here.

He finds a bit more passion to put into his movements, his jaw beginning to work with more purpose.  Stars, he wants this to work, and while it’s probable that there’s an easier way to accomplish it, this isn’t something the Academy trains for.  There’s only so much he can do except just be patient and giving with his soft, muted thoughts, urging you to make use of them without ever saying them aloud.

And suddenly, like the dark waves of your sleep decide to illuminate for him all on their own, your subconscious mind responds to the gentle stimulus.  It carefully reaches out and studies the suggestion he’s silently offering, having spent what feels like an eternity trying to entice your rawest, most fundamental being into going somewhere it normally wouldn’t go, all without letting you know he’s even there.

His tongue is still moving.  With purpose, with a specific intent in mind, Anakin allows his head to slowly fall back as he lifts his chin up towards it, wanting it more and more the longer you take to consider it, as if your mind is actively trying to tease him by playing hard to get.  He can feel you right there, feel you thinking about it, and the whole thing is almost like some elaborate courting ritual while he waits with bated breath for you to decide whether or not to humor him.

But then, just when Anakin fears you may be too strong to be swayed, too powerful in the Force to be tempted by an outside source, you abruptly snatch the idea from him and start to run with it.

Suddenly parts of your spirit begin illuminating that should be dormant right now, and Anakin follows you, wherever you’re leading him.  He knows none of this is necessarily intentional on your behalf—nobody can consciously pick and choose their dreams, not even Jedi.  But this endeavor proves that it’s absolutely possible to subtly inspire them in each other, regardless of the morality behind it.

The wind continues to howl outside the cave and remind him that an entire universe still exists beyond your beautifully soporose mind, but the dreamscape gradually begins unfolding around him without any further prompting, requiring nothing more than what he’s already provided.  Anakin’s tongue continues to simulate and suggest regardless, only now he feels the ghost of it beginning to materialize somewhere else besides the roof of his mouth, the sensations appearing before the images can be conjured to fill in the gaps.  His hands suddenly tighten on his thighs at the soft, enticing feeling beginning to take root in you.

And oh.  It’s… good.  It feels different when his own body isn’t really the target of the stimulation, when he’s doing nothing more than simply experiencing it vicariously.  Anakin supposes he could’ve bypassed all this effort, just aimed the pleasure more directly from the very beginning instead of working to inspire and coax it out of your own consciousness, but that was never his intention and it misses the point entirely.  Where’s the challenge in it?  The finesse is lost, it doesn’t appeal to him.  It’s brash and brutish and not his style.  No, this is what he wanted.  He wanted to get just close enough to plant the most basic, fundamental idea in your head and then witness the rest of it all play out as a phantom passenger.  Step back, strap in, and see how you kindle and manipulate the desire yourself, exactly the way you want it.

Anakin starts to breathe a little heavier through his nose, shoulders tense as he works to ride the slow swelling of your own prolonged pleasure with you, not knowing if or when it’s going to peak.  He’s never made it this far before, he has no idea what to expect.  Your consciousness does all the heavy lifting for him, your floor muscles move and contract without him needing to do anything to encourage it, the dream he seeded now completely taking over and whisking you both away.

But then… then suddenly Anakin doesn’t understand.  Because yes, your mind works exactly the way he hoped it would—everything goes the incredibly precise direction he intended, and yet the destination is somehow… here?  Back at the very beginning?

You dream of a cave.  It’s exactly the same as the one you’re both silently holed up in for the night, and no new faces have appeared.  If Anakin fluttered his eyes open at this specific moment, absolutely nothing around him would change.  Except, perhaps, the subtle glow around everything—the watery way the air seems to be moving, as if it can’t decide whether it wants to exist or not so it strangely succeeds in doing both at the same time.  He’s not really here—at least, he doesn’t think he is, he’s just seated on the dirt floor, appearing as nothing more than an invisible witness to it.

No.  No, actually, he takes that back, he… is here.  It takes him a moment to see the full picture as you’re still putting the puzzle pieces together, but… that’s him.  A projection of himself at least, looking only slightly different but recognizable enough.  Dark robes, robotic right arm, steady gaze.

But where are you?  Anakin looks around the empty cave, still trying to understand how you’re painting this, his conscious mind moving much more rapidly than your own abstract one and yet also somehow taking so much longer to catch up to you.  You’re not here.  Why aren’t you here?  He’s getting stuck on the details, he knows he’s lagging behind.

It takes a moment longer.  Just one, before Anakin suddenly realizes that… he’s not just an invisible witness, is he?

He looks back down to see his own head now buried between his thighs.

But they’re not his thighs, not really.  They’re yours.  He’s just seeing everything from your point of view, feeling everything you’re feeling from the small little space he’s occupying in your mind.

At this point, Anakin needs to anchor.  He feels himself—his real self, the one currently stuck in a cave in the midst of an unexpected dust storm—curl inwards and clamp his legs together.  This will work.  If he focuses enough to pinpoint the way his knees feel pressed tight together, he can have a tether to separate himself from your dream, the way yours are currently… wide open.  This is all too similar to your true surroundings—he didn’t expect this, he doesn’t want to get lost.

And yet… Maker, it feels good.  His long curls feel so soft in your hands, his tongue drags slow magic between your legs.  When Anakin first suggested the idea to you, he didn’t think you’d assign the role back to him.  He assumed you had someone else in mind, somewhere else you wished to be besides this dull, dreary setting.  He gave you just an inkling of a prompt, and this is what the most creative part of your mind created.  Something he could be doing at this exact moment, if only he’d known you’d be interested.

Then again, Anakin thinks, you may have just recognized him subconsciously.  You may have attached him to the idea already, if only because he was the truest originator of it.  But it doesn’t matter now, he can’t process such complex thoughts while maintaining the suspended mental state he’s in—he feels like he’ll either completely fall into it or out of it if he tries.

But as your muscles continue to work and your pleasure continues to build, it becomes harder and harder to separate where he is in relation to you.  Anakin clenches his legs tighter together as you open yours wider apart, the dream gaining more strength as it develops.  Stars, it’s—it’s—

Anakin starts to lose it and he needs to tug on that tether to his surroundings again, but it’s way more difficult than it should be to recognize himself.  His calloused fingers on his left hand tremble as he reaches up and uses them to cover his face, biting his tongue to stop the low rumbles of ecstasy that want to claw their way out of his throat.  Maker, this feels so… different from the build he knows.  He thought—if he was successful—that he’d be able to handle it as silently and stoically as he’s able to handle his own pleasure, but this is something else entirely.  Why does it feel so… so spectacular?  Maker, he never realized the sensation was all that different on the inside, much less that he was actually missing out by having a dick between his legs.

But then suddenly there’s a pause, a break in the way you’ve been rhythmically squeezing and flexing your body for him.

The dream adapts to it.  Anakin looks down between your open thighs just in time to see himself pulling away from your warmth, putting two fingers in his mouth, before slowly easing his hand back down between them.

No, he thinks, a bright flare of panic sparking inside him as he immediately snatches and yanks the tether to reality, popping his eyes open and pulling away from your mind entirely, oh no—wait, that’s not what I—

But see.  That’s the thing about being so meticulous about conjuring something that doesn’t actually exist.  Once his brilliant creation decides to backfire on him—a fool-proof way to escape it doesn’t actually exist either.

He… he can’t wake up.  No matter how much his body struggles backwards on the dirt floor of the cave, how wide he can feel his eyes are right now, how excruciatingly aware he is that none of this is real, none of this is actually happening to him, he’s caught in the dream he planted and you’re hauling him along for the ride.  The closest he can describe it is like having footage play in one eye while the other can see perfectly fine.  He knows where the line that separates reality is, but he can’t escape your consciousness’s crushing gravitational pull; it’s too massive and overwhelming now, he can’t gain enough velocity to get home.  Real life exists but only through a window, and being stuck on the other side like this—knowing he’s dreaming but not being able to jolt awake when he’s very ready to leave—is suddenly more terrifying than any nightmare Anakin has ever experienced.

It also has unintended consequences.  Clinging so desperately to his own body has made him completely aware of it in the purgatory he’s now trapped himself in, but the pleasure is still there so the source of the stimulation is still there.  They’re not your thighs anymore, they’re his thighs again.  But that’s also still him between his legs, continuing to ease his fingers forwards.

He keeps retreating back and away from them no matter what, but there’s nothing more he can do.

Anakin helplessly watches on as his own fingers slowly disappear up inside himself, and his eyes instantly lose focus and his jaw goes slack as he feels it the way you would.  They’re not real, so there’s no pain, no true pressure or stretch, just… hard, unadulterated stimulation starting to burn up inside him.

He doesn’t realize his body kept moving until he suddenly feels the wall of the cave slam into his back and he has to brace himself against it, frantically shoving himself back into it as far as he can with his legs and digging his nails into dirt at the base, scrabbling for breath and stability.  Anakin tightens up wickedly as you both bear down on the phantom intrusion, sweat beading at his hairline as he works to process the foreign sensation and you whimper quietly in your sleep.  His cock is rock hard between his legs and he shudders to think that his mind will compensate for the difference and his alter ego will actually take it into his mouth—but no, the projection doesn’t change because it’s still coming from you, still being led by your own desires.  Dream-Anakin’s mouth drops and his tongue comes out to keep licking your slit but to the real Anakin, it just looks like his mouth disappears somewhere near his balls, and then a magnificent swell of bliss suddenly kicks in before he can fight as savagely against it as he wants.  He’d normally be repulsed, and maybe he currently is to some extent, but because your pleasure spikes so dangerously with it, his hips stutter into the sensation just as desperately.

He’s making noise, he knows he is—he can feel his throat working too hard for just air to be moving through.  No, he’s whimpering, or moaning, or doing something but he can’t hear himself at all.  His instinct is to yell as loudly as he can, to try and wake you up manually, but it doesn’t seem to work, you’re way too far gone now.  He listens for the dust storm that should be screaming outside, the popping of the fire somewhere in this cave, but they’re suddenly nowhere to be found.  He’s being dragged under by your enormous current that’s somehow still continuing to build in strength, losing oxygen by the second.  He’s not ready for it, he doesn’t want it, he’s terrified, he needs to wake up—

Anakin slams his head back against the wall hard enough to make himself bleed and gasps raggedly as he loses his grip on everything, shutting his eyes tight with his fist shoved up against his teeth.  Nothing exists at all anymore but the swirling typhoon that continues raging forth.  Beyond purgatory, and then beyond heaven.

When you finally do manage to find the absolute peak of your climb, he’s sure he all but blacks out with it.

It’s pure, blinding rapture on all levels—physical, metaphysical, whatever else exists after that.  It surges up with razor-sharp claws of merciless ecstasy and he’s just not equipped to experience anything anywhere close to it.  The connection between your minds thrums and sparks violently; Anakin feels the way your body practically soars over top of the pleasure while his is just being ruthlessly pummeled into the ground by it.  He’s not meant to handle this, he literally wasn’t made to survive the devastating anomaly—it’s as wicked and excruciating as it is dazzling, and he wonders if he’ll ever truly be able to come back from it.

Eventually, Anakin manages to find his way back to himself.  Eventually.

His cock is throbbing, that’s the first thing he‘s able to notice.  The dirt floor beneath him that somehow feels slightly different than before, the fetal position he’s assuming on top of it, the once sturdy wall now crumbling to dust against his back.

The next thing he notices is the utter, complete mess he made.  Blood slowly drips in a line down his neck and more cum than he’s ever felt himself produce before drenches the front of his pants.  Anakin slowly blinks his eyes open, trying to fight the vertigo and wondering if he might have a concussion right now.  There are cracks and fractures in the ground that branch out from the small crater at his back, and the fire is completely extinguished now, charred logs splintered and strewn about like somebody detonated a bomb in here.

At some point, his gaze drags over towards you, and remarkably, you haven’t moved.  Still curled up on your side with your back to him, still breathing slow and steady and undisturbed.

Anakin pants in exhaustion and waits for you to turn over to address him and what he did.  There’s no way you’re still asleep, not after what just happened.  Anakin couldn’t get through it without sending a giant shockwave through the entire cave and quite literally rupturing the ground beneath him, he’s surprised you even managed to stay in one spot the entire time.  He doesn’t know if you feel violated right now and are refusing to acknowledge him, or if it’s just taking as long as he is for your brain to catch up and start functioning again.

That is, until he hears a small snore come from your unmoving body once more.

Anakin blinks.

No.  You have to be awake, he figures, moving to prop himself upright and wipe the blood from his neck with the dark sleeve of his robe.  There’s no possible way that the orgasm you both shared is actually… normal, no, the sheer power of it had to be influenced by his presence somehow.  He must have… increased it, or something.  Anakin doesn’t know how, but he knows he must be directly responsible, this had to have been the strongest you’ve ever cum in your life and you just don’t know how to confront him about it right now, so you’re pretending to sleep.  Yes, that’s what it is, that’s what it has to be.

He’s not going to check, though.  He’s not going to find any lingering energy left within himself to summon and look for the thick darkness of sleep still enveloping you, he’s not going anywhere near your signature right now.  No, Anakin is fine just like this, exactly where he is.  Instead of verifying or confirming his own understanding, he’ll just be extra confident in it, that’s always worked well for him.

So he just sits back and takes a deep, shuddering breath, feeling like his whole body is weak and trembling with fatigue.  Maybe you are asleep, he shrugs.  Maybe he’s wrong, and selfish, and an idiot.  Or maybe.

Maybe you just like keeping secrets, too.

[shotorozu]

hii ^—^ if that’s okay, i’d love to request for bakugo, shoto, kirishima and denki when they have to fight with their s/o in sport’s festival. thank you so much in advance!! <3

fighting their s/o in the sports festival

characters : bakugou katsuki, todoroki shouto, kirishima eijirou, kaminari denki

legend : [Y/N = your name] gender neutral, reader has an earthebending quirk because it’s practical

fic type : headcanons [lowkey angst, fluff]

notes : this might be a little shorter than my usual headcanons, so i’d like to apologize for that if it is. also did not proofread, will do so later

»»————-　♡　————-««

bakugou katsuki

the fact that you’re his s/o changes nothing about how he’ll fight you

he’ll fight you like any other person at UA, since bakugou believes in equality and fairness— am i right?

he won’t hold back so, i hope you’re ready

on the other hand, you’re quite nervous— since you’re fighting your s/o infront of the entire student body (+ some pro heros)

but compared to what he’d usually do with other matches and fights— he’ll give you a headstart

he’ll let you attack him first

because heck, bakugou’s still quite a softie for his s/o— and he kinda wants to see if you win

(not that he’ll ever show that)

if you win the battle, he’ll be very impressed— even if he’s stuck to the ground, he’ll give you an impressed smirk

if you lose, he’ll kinda tease you like “better luck next time ig ;)”

okay, but if you get really hurt— that��s when he’ll be worried

he’s rough alright, but the last thing bakugou wants to do is hurt you

he’ll drag you to recovery girl, while muttering quiet apologizes, rubbing your temples as you get healed

todoroki shouto

it takes him a few seconds for todoroki to realize that he’s fighting you

and he’ll probably consider dropping out of the match, just because he’s so worried about hurting you

(and becoming like end*avor)

but you have to encourage him, and convince him that you want him to fight you

which he hesitates saying yes to.

once he’s in the actual match, he won’t hold back, but he’ll be a little hesitant to use his left side.

he’ll also make the first move— since his first solution is to knock you out of bounce (instead of fighting you)

but todoroki won’t be afraid to use his right side with you

yet he doesn’t want to leave burn marks on your delicate skin

but he ends up using it, because you’re really capable with your earth bending quirk— making it hard to beat you

if you win, he’ll be really glad that you won (not caring about endeavor’s disappointment)

if you lose, todoroki will help you up— while apologizing to you profusely (even if he didn’t go that harsh on you)

but if he did injure you greatly, he’ll be really worried— and he’ll be sent to a state of panic

apologizing profusely when you’re getting sent to recovery girl (even when you’re knocked out)

then he’ll start doubting his ability as a boyfriend— because he hurt you, didn’t he?

but that’s when you have to reassure him that he did nothing wrong— and to cope with that battle, he’ll give you a lot of hugs and kisses :,)

kirishima eijirou

he’ll be really pumped up for the sports festival in general

but he’ll be looking at the matches like “okay! who’s my next match— wait a minute.”

he’s panicking now because oh no, i’m fighting my s/o- what if i hurt them? what if i go too far-

and then you’re like “kiri, calm down. it’ll be fine.”

which kinda reassures him?? but he’ll still be worried

compared to the last two— he won’t go too hard on you. because he thinks it’s unmanly to go too hard on his s/o

that means you get the first move :)

his quirk is very different compared to yours—

so he kinda automatically assumed that you were just going to push him out of bounce

(he was wrong, you put up a good fight)

if he wins, the first thing he’ll do is help you up— that’s the best thing he can do for you

“you put up a good fight, Y/N! good job :)”

and if you win, he’ll be so impressed— and then he’ll just shower you in compliments

“that was so manly, Y/N! good job :)”

okay but if he injured you, he’ll be secretly beating himself up— since he didn’t have to go too far with it.

but you’re always there to comfort him, even though it should be the other way around,,

he’ll get you anything you need afterwards— food? not an issue! water? also not an issue!

but the most important thing afterwards is some cuddles and lil kisses printed on your hands

kaminari denki

again, another person that’s really pumped up for the sports festival

but as soon as he sees you as his opponent, he’ll be like 👁👄👁

then he’ll be worried because

wait, i have to fight my s/o??

out of all the bnha boys in this list, he goes easy on you the most

not that he’s underestimating you— but it’s because he’s such a simp

before the match, he’ll ask you if you’re sure that you wanna fight him

(because while he’s a simp, he’s worried about electricuting you with his quirk)

you say that you’re sure that you want to fight him— and that’s how you got into this situation

he’s making lighthearted jokes (to distract his pounding heart) and you’re like

:/ there’s a time and place for everything, denki

so that’s why— you make the first move

okay, denki goes easy on you, but that doesn’t mean he won’t try at all

he’s secretly hoping you’ll just push him out of bounce with your quirk (which is the most likely case anyway)

if you win— he’ll be simping over you hard like “wow, you’re so cool Y/N!”

if he wins— he’ll be surprised because.. how the hell did he win again?

he’s definitely checking on your wellness “are you okay, Y/N? did i electricute you?”

he’s just worried :)

if he did electricute him, he’ll be sent into a state of concern— thinking things like

“did i hurt them too much? what if they died—”

no denki, it’s fine. midnight probably would’ve stopped the fight if he was about to kill you

lots of reassurance is needed, and you’ll probably have to give him a lot of kisses.

it tells him that you’re okay :)

»»————-　♡　————-««

likes and reblogs are appreciated, thanks for reading!

i do not own bnha/mha and it’s characters. boku no hero academia/my hero academia belongs to horikoshi kohei. i only own the writing

do not plagiarize my work :))

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 282: Aizawa Defeeted

Previously on BnHA: Oh my god do we even care about that at this point. Tomura made a speech; Gran Torino died; Deku lost his shit and tried to strangle Tomura to death with his bare hands; Ryuukyuu came back from Wherever She Was and tried to grab Tomura but he punched a hole through her giant hand; and now he’s grabbing his Quirk-Be-Gone bullets and is ready to cause some mayhem okay?? That about sum it up?? Is anyone even reading this?? CAN WE JUST GET ON WITH IT I’VE WAITED AN ENTIRE WEEK.

Today on BnHA: Well I guess let’s start with what doesn’t happen: Bakugou doesn’t lose his quirk. HE LUCKED OUT!!... for now, anyways. Because, thanks to a near-impossible-to-predict series of events (seriously, raise your hands if you had “Aizawa gets shot but goes full World War Z on his own ass” on your bingo card), Tomura has seemingly regained his regeneration powers, which means that his other quirks are probably back online as well! So we’ll see how that all goes. Anyway so in the meantime Shouto’s back, looking very mad that everyone temporarily forgot he was a main character. And Gigantomachia is back as well! Or almost, anyway. Also, you’ll never guess who broke another one of his arms! Go on, guess. But at least he still has the arm, though, which is more than we can say for certain other people’s limbs. Poor Aizawa is literally on his last leg. He and Tomura really got off on the wrong foot. He chopped his leg off, is what I’m saying. It’s that kind of chapter folks.

you guys I’m losing my whole fucking mind. I straight up deleted the tumblr app off my phone for 24 hours so that I wouldn’t be tempted to log in and risk potentially being spoiled. and I’m happy to say that it worked! so here we are now, completely spoiler free, and let me just say that if Horikoshi decides to cut back to Gunga Mountain now, I will either cry for hours or abandon the series forever and go do something more productive with the rest of my quarantine like learning how to play sad songs on the guitar

all right. here goes

so we’re opening with Deku, who is currently comprised of 100% rage and 0% mercy, and is doing that thing where only the whites of his eyes are visible. and basically he’s just thinking “I’VE REALLY GOT TO HOLD ON TO THIS GUY AND MAKE SURE HE DOESN’T DO ANYTHING ELSE HOMICIDAL.” which is a solid game plan, but perhaps not so easily accomplished

-- oh my god this poor kid is still in denial, I can’t. why are you doing this

is there even still a Gran Torino to tend to at this point? after Tomura bulldozed a hole through his torso, and you went and finished the job with your own fucking attack? sob

but I guess the law of Tragic Shounen Mentor Deaths mandates that Gran’s should be at least as drawn-out as Nighteye’s was, though. so he’s probably only Mostly Dead, which is still Slightly Alive if I remember my Princess Bride correctly, and I think I do

so now the rest of these stooges are finally catching up with us here

yes, my friends. a bullet. WELCOME TO MY LIFE FOR THE PAST FUCKING WEEK. anyways I have a LOT of pent-up energy here just fyi. there may be a lot of unnecessary screaming in this recap

FUCKING WYOMING SMASH Y’ALLSSSS

I HAVE NO FUCKING IDEA WHAT JUST HAPPENED SOB. DID HE JUST HAMMER FIST TOMURA’S HEAD INTO THE GROUND. DID HE SNAP HIS FUCKING NECK AT 100%. IN AN IDEAL WORLD HE WOULD HAVE JUST CHOPPED TOMURA’S ARMS OFF WHILE SOMEHOW MANAGING TO AVOID BREAKING ANY OF HIS OWN BONES IN THE PROCESS, BUT I HAVE A FEELING THIS SITUATION WILL NOT BE RESOLVED IN ANY KIND OF MANNER ONE WOULD CONSIDER “IDEAL”

(ETA: fun fact: this attack did absolutely nothing except make things approximately 100x worse. but you tried Deku. you tried.)

THE FUCK KIND OF PORTENTOUS BULLSHITTING TITLE IS THIS. OH MY GOD, I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHAT EMOTION I’M HAVING RIGHT NOW, IT’S JUST A LOT OF LOUD THOUGHTS

anyway so if you’re just joining us, Tomura just pulled two bullets out of his pocket, the good guys finally noticed, and then Deku did a smash and everything exploded. the radius of this attack actually looks wide enough to have potentially involved Aizawa, who probably does NOT want to get any debris in his eyes right now, and also Gran, who probably doesn’t particularly want to be hit by another deadly attack for the third time in the past ninety seconds. anyway so I guess what I’m trying to say here is WHAT WAS THE POINT OF THAT YOU LITTLE GREEN LUNATIC

AHHHHHH

he got the one!! the one that was in Tomura’s right hand!! but what about the one in his left ahhhhhhh

(ETA: lmao at Kacchan being the one to blow up the same bullet I was so sure he was going to be shot with. saw the writing on the wall, huh kid? what do we say to the god of foreshadowing?? ‘NOT TODAY.’ ...except that we’re still not actually out of the woods yet so you still better watch yourself lol.)

...

based on the font here, these are Tomura’s thoughts. which he is thinking immediately after getting the lower half of his jaw very painfully cronched by the VERY homicidal sixteen-year-old still clinging to him. anyway so Tomura’s thought processes are as inscrutable to me as ever lulz

and Deku’s arm looks broken again, yaaaaay. but at least it’s his left arm and not his right! so that’s nice. now they can match

[SHRIEKS]

HE YEETED IT. IT HAS BEEN YEETEDED. HE DID A YEET. [sobbing] he DiD a YeEt oH my GOD

DID IT HIT SOMETHING!?!?!?

my reading process here is as follows: 1) scroll down exactly one panel. 2) scream even though absolutely nothing has happened yet. 3) WRITE THAT DOWN 4) REPEAT

DKSFJLKHSDLGKHLI

DID IT HIT HIM!?!? DID IT GET HIM IN THE LEG SOB ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS. JUST LIKE THAT?? BOOM GUN BULLET LEG!!?

YOU GUYS IT REALLY HIT AIZAWA AND NO ONE DID A GODDAMN THING?? it wasn’t even drawn out or anything??? it just HAPPENED, within like four pages??? NO SLOW MO?? NOT EVEN A REACTION PANEL WHAT THE FUCK

son of a bitch I would so dearly like to grab Manual and RockLockRock’s heads right now and just conk them together real hard. YOU STUPID FUCKS sob YOU HAD ONE JOB!!! IT REALLY WAS JUST ONE!! AND YOU WERE SHARING IT!! SO IT’S MORE LIKE HALF A JOB!! AND YOU STILL COCKED IT UP IN ABSOLUTELY NO TIME AT ALL OH MY GOD

(ETA: they should blow this panel up and make it into a t-shirt and make Manual and RLR wear the shirts every day for the rest of their lives. half a job, you guys. please go away I cannot even look at you right now.)

FUCK MY EVERYTHING

(ETA: I still can’t figure out if this horrific angle is due to the earlier damage from the Noumu, or if Tomura really just flung the bullet THAT hard. honestly I’m surprised it didn’t just slice right through him with that kind of velocity. “no thanks because then I wouldn’t get to write a scene where he chops his own leg off” oh okay well when you put it that way, Horikoshi.)

if I recall correctly this is the leg that he said was “twisted”, no? yeesh. might just want to chop it off real quick, then. s’not like it’s doing you any more good. does anyone know if zombie rules apply or not with this sort of thing?? shit

?!?!

“THANKS”?? okay what. did it hit him or not??

-- oh my god WAIT. WAIT. WAIT. WAIT. WAIT. WAIT. WAIT

I WAS -- I WAS JOKING I -- FFFFFFFFKJK

jesus fucking christ. when I said “might just want to chop it off real quick” literally FOUR PARAGRAPHS AGO, I can tell you that the one thing I did NOT expect was for Aizawa to be all, “you know what, that’s a good idea”, and then YOINK OUT HIS TRUSTY HERO SHANK AND GO FULL 127 HOURS ON THIS BITCH. "LALALA WE’RE GONNA DO IT RATIONALLY TEEHEE” like excuse me, the fuck

anyways. I don’t even know what to say. thank you Aizawa’s leg for your sacrifice, and for always supporting him. literally. oh my god I came here ready for my son to enter a new phase of character development, and for the manga as a whole to enter a new phase of glorious, glorious angst. no one told me I’d be sitting here making puns instead. what a fine, confusing day

anyway though let’s just fucking hope it worked. and side note, if Aizawa Shouta really did chop off his own fucking leg just now and somehow STILL managed not to fucking blink, I think we might as well just go ahead and hand him the Biggest Badass In The Series award right now because no one is ever going to top that. nope. not happening

it is truly a testament to Shigaraki Tomura’s unfathomably mysterious sexy villain energy that he still somehow manages to look hot with only half a face

also no one in this manga actually feels pain, do they. not Deku, not Aizawa, not Tomura, no one. no wonder none of them have any self-preservation instincts to speak of

um

did someone just randomly explode just now. at this point it might as well happen, right

oh it’s the shockwave from Deku’s Wyoming attack, apparently. how nice of it to have a delayed reaction for absolutely no reason

anyway so Deku’s being flung back, but he’s grabbing onto Tomura again with Blackwhip. but oh shit you guys, if Tomura escapes Deku and Ryuukyuu’s clutches and still has any bullets left in his pocket, we may still be able to salvage this Bakugou quirk situation after all. would be nice to be able to actually do something with all of these “happy quirk losing day” balloons that I ordered

(ETA: actually, believe it or not I honestly like this better. Tomura using AFO was always the more dramatic option anyway. and now that we’ve done the bullet thing everyone has presumably let their guard down again, which, good.)

I love how Tomura apparently hasn’t noticed that Aizawa’s just amputated his own leg? to be fair he’s probably distracted by all the explosions and such

also gotta love how Deku’s arm-breaking attack seemingly just made everything worse for no reason. and also how Manual and RockLockRock are once again just standing there doing absolutely nothing

SO NOW GUESS WHAT’S HAPPENING

I MEAN IT! GUESS. BECAUSE YOUR GUESS IS AS GOOD AS MINE LOL

OH WELL OKAY THEN

just like we all saw coming!! ...

so is this Endeavor’s attack?? Bakugou’s?? either way, hot damn. fortunately for Tomura he is apparently operating under the same guidelines as the U.S. Federal Reserve, in which mutilated bills may still be exchanged at face value if more than 50% of a note identifiable as United States currency is present. basically as long as roughly half of him is still vaguely Tomura-shaped I assume he’ll be fine

(ETA: in hindsight I should have immediately been able to identify this as a Shouto attack based solely on how murdery it was lol.)

OH MY GODDDD

KRANCH?!?

OH MY GOD LOL WHAT. LOL. REMEMBER EVERYONE’S THEORIES FROM LIKE TWENTY YEARS AGO LOL. SHOUTO WHAT THE FUCK. DID YOU STOP FOR DRIVE THRU

AND MEANWHILE DEKU’S BACK ON THE SCENE GIVING ARGUABLY EVEN LESS FUCKS THAN BEFORE, IF SUCH A THING IS EVEN POSSIBLE. SO FAR THIS CHAPTER HAS PRECISELY ZERO THINGS THAT I ACTUALLY EXPECTED IN IT, WHICH IS VERY IMPRESSIVE

IT ALSO HAS A LOT OF SMASHING

a LOT. of smashing, guys. feels like... 60% smashing, 20% severed legs, 20% Kranch

-- oh no oh SHIT oh shit oh shit

(ETA: um so I really can’t tell how far that wound extends and whether or not Aizawa still has his right eye, shit.)

first of all how did Deku get here next to Aizawa when he was just over there with Tomura, what. and second, I think Aizawa just blinked, oh shit. probably on the verge of passing out after CHOPPING HIS OWN LEG OFF which STILL hasn’t been acknowledged yet?? did I just completely misinterpret all of that back there or what

(ETA: there was seriously so little attention called to this that I scrolled back up to confirm it probably like half a dozen times. apparently Horikoshi thinks that THE MOST BADASS THING TO EVER HAPPEN IN THE MANGA should be completely downplayed. whereas if it were me, there’d be an entire two page spread of JUST THE LEG. WITH MUSIC PLAYING. EVEN THOUGH IT’S A MANGA.)

YEPPPPPPP. fuck

look at him though. he’s so happy. this is why I can’t stay mad at you no matter how deranged you get you little maniac

so is quirk-stealing back on the menu then or what. don’t think I’ve been lulled into any kind of false sense of security by any of this lol

-- ARE WE SERIOUSLY CUTTING AWAY

so Todoroki really went after them ALONE. the better to put his dad right back up at the top of the Lose Your Quirk Sweepstakes finalists. well... second-to-top, maybe. like I said I will not be lulled

yuh-oh

why do I feel like the odds of Gigantomachia arriving to herald the end of this chapter just shot up DRAMATICALLY

so the next page is almost entirely just a list of cities that the news anchor is telling people to evacuate because they’re in Machia’s path. along with a bunch of dead heroes lying around everywhere, and Ochako being all ominous

(: weren’t they, though? heh. this is going to be so, so bad (: (: (:

-- fuuuuuuuuuuu

aaaaaand that’s it. hahahaha. okay then let’s summarize

Bakugou defied all expectations and kept his quirk (FOR NOW)!

Aizawa cut his own fucking leg off and it WASN’T EVEN REMOTELY ACKNOWLEDGED FOR REASONS I CAN’T UNDERSTAND (R.I.P. AIZAWA’S PRECIOUS LEG. YOU ALWAYS PUT YOUR BEST FOOT FORWARD)

Kranch showed up after 157 years and is probably wondering why the heck I keep calling him “Kranch” now. THINGS CHANGE WHEN YOU’RE MIA FOR A WHILE MY LITTLE STARBUCKS CHRISTMAS CUP

Deku broke his arm for the 78th time

Tomura regenerated but seems to think Aizawa’s quirk is actually gone for good, which I’m pretty sure it’s not. so if they can keep him from destroying everything long enough for Aizawa to turn it back on again, we might possibly still survive this

and lastly, Machia is about to kill all of these stupid people frolicking around outside of this fitness club who are probably so proud of themselves for not being glued to their phones 24/7 because they prefer to LIVE LIFE IN THE MOMENT, THANK YOU VERY MUCH. well that’s on you my friends. at least it’ll be a quick death. ffff

[blastedking]

Hello. I am a simple hermit who would like to bring a message.

I want to thank you for all your art this year, both written and non. I've been following your ULF comics ever since you posted that first page, and it's been an amazing journey to watch your style change and become cleaner and improve over time. Your stories that you've written have also most certainly been a highlight, I always looked forward to new chapters every Saturday. I especially loved Kilchoan and the lore you've woven into the background of your comics, it's definitely well thought-out and it has always been a pleasure to read.

The fact that you've been able to keep your comics and writings consistent has been really amazing. I saw your post about your finals grind and I know you'll be taking a break to really concentrate on your schooling (good luck with all of it, by the way), but the fact that you still have enough queued for weeks and months anyway? Absolutely incredible. I hope you are proud of yourself, especially because I definitely think you should be. You more than deserve it.

I can't wait to see what the new year brings for you and your artwork. But even if you do take pauses and breaks here and there, I won't mind at all. You've already made such wonderful and amazing work already and it'd be worth any wait necessary.

May your new year bring peace, hope, and happiness. I wish you well in all your endeavors, both artistic and not.

Oh, my dear hermit - what you doing, you bring tears to my eyes!

This is such a lovely and wonderful message and it truly makes me all goopy inside. In the good way obviously. Thank you SO much. This really means a lot to me and I do fail spectacularly to put these feelings into words right now because you just hit on so many points dear to me that I’m left flailing helplessly here. <3

(I have to say, the pointing out of Kilchoan really hits hard (in a good way again), because I was kinda nervous in a way about that one (not unsure mind you, I do like Kilchoan a lot too. xD). But all the other three stories before had more of a direct link to the ehh “official canon” - while Kilchoan really just is out there on its own, living its best life. While yes, Zargothrax is there, and Ralathor to an extent too, there are a lot of OCs in it too. And I know that kind of stuff isn’t always the most well-received.)

Following the whole thing from the very start - I have to say since I’ve been queuing up some of the old art - it’s been a ride. I’m very happy with where I am art wise right now, especially comparing it to my art two years ago. (Yes I will still stress again and again that it’s really a shaky comparison to make myself because I came into this fandom out of a year-long hiatus from drawing ANYTHING at all. I was very VERY rusty xD ). Thank you for sticking around!

But yes - I’ve been prepping for this finals grind for a while now (basically since the beginning of the year because I knew it was coming and I’d need the time) - the only thing I didn’t manage to finish for the life of me is “Return to Darkness” - Which I really, really wanted to have done by this point. But that thing has gotten longer than planned. I am at the finale now so - that’s good. But chances are good it will first drop after the finals are over. BUT that’s alright. x)

AGAIN

Thank you so so much! I hope you’ll have a fantastic new year! And if that year happens to have you stick around some more around these parts, I wouldn’t say no to that! ✨

[ushiwakatrash]

On your knees, King!

Bakugou x reader, Todoroki x reader

Fantasy AU

!Warnings!: Swearing, betrayal, lil dash of angst, shitty writing

Synopsis:

Bakugou is the esteemed King of the Kingdom of Barbarians and because he succeeded in ruling the lands that were once governed by the Yuuei Kingdom, an offering must be made for the peace of the people. As the so-called ‘black sheep’ of the royal family, the King of Yuuei a.k.a. your father, offered you--naming you the most precious thing he could give; but you know the truth behind his words.

PART I

Part 2 →

“All hail the Barbarian king!”

Chants roared throughout the fallen kingdom as the last palace on the hunt list fell to the hands of the barbarians. The leader of their army, along with his trusted dragon, stood tall as they basked in their hard-earned victory. 

The dragon who could shapeshift into human form kneeled at the foot of his master. “At long last my king, Yuuei is ours. This glory is because of you.” 

“There, you are wrong, Kirishima. This victory is ours. TO THE BARBARIANS!” the king cheered. His soldiers followed suit with their own cheers of victory but in the castle of Yuuei, a family shuddered in fear.

Since the king couldn’t govern all of the kingdoms he had conquered all at once, he usually appointed the royal family to do it for him but one wrong move may cost their heads.

That fear was enough for the other kingdoms to pledge loyalty, knowing how the Barbarian king would definitely hang their heads on the palace gates if they ever displeased him.

The same feeling emanated in the walls of Yuuei. They knew of the new King’s ways and now they were the newest set of prisoners of the Barbarians. The king however needs a token, one of the most worth in the former king’s possession.

Other nations brought forth their best quality gold, finest jewels, the smoothest cloths of silk, but only this kingdom had a princess--and that was worth more than any of those other gifts combined.  

(Y/n) was called a weight on the family name by her own kin. She was far from what you would call an elegant lady. During the daytime you would see her sparring with the knights. Other times she would go hunting with her commoner friends.

She knew her way with swords and weapons. She is also very skilled with the bow. One of their best knights, Iida Tenya, taught her to wield these things even if it was against his will at first.

She was the princess of the people and all the commoners adored her. Her family on the other hand frowned upon her actions calling it ‘unfit for a lady and a princess’ but she could care less. 

Raw strength was not a problem for this princess and accompanied by her smarts, everyone looked up to her. The royal family could careless for their people but the heart of (Y/n) was just like that of a commoner.

She knew of their struggles and accepted criticism they had which earned her the respect of almost all of the people. She sometimes would sneak out of the castle to give food to those who have nothing on their plates or give medicine to the sick.

The only person who knew this was her childhood friend, Prince Shouto. They were introduced to each other when they were young as political marriages often happened between royal families; they were engaged.

And because their kingdom had also fallen in the hands of the great King Bakugou, their engagement had been called of because even if they remained in their respective palaces and continued to govern their own land, they were royals no more.

She lacked finesse and grace but she never lacked in heart and compassion. She was the only princess born in a royal family and because of her attitude and crass behavior, the King found her useless and an embarrassment.

 What other way to get rid of her than to give her as an offering? Surely she would refuse the offer so the king had to plan on how to break the news on his only daughter.

The queen refused to give her daughter away but if they did not comply, all three of their heads will be chopped off from their body. It was the only way to survive in their lost kingdom.

The only lucky thing that they could happen to have right now is that their daughter would be at the age to marry. She was.

-- 

The sun was out and the weather was nice--the perfect time to catch a wild boar. The town folks will surely enjoy the meals that could be made with it. She reached for the red tooth that was attached to a slim piece of rope wrapped around her neck and touched it for good luck before hunting.

When she was only starting to get into hunting as a young girl, she wandered off to the woods by herself. That’s when she met a blonde with piercing red eyes. At fist he was hostile towards her but after a few more visits, they became friends.

He taught her how to skillfully shoot a pigeon with a bow, and they would have that bird for lunch. He taught her how to climb trees and distinguish poisonous berries from edible ones. 

One time, after they had finish catching fishes in the river to roast, he shyly handed her the necklace, telling the princess that it was a price from defeating a beast of the forest. In her state of happiness, she tackled the young boy into the hug and unknown to her, it was the first time he had felt affection.

She had no idea what was going on in the palace. She was busy finding food for the poor families she had recently talked to. A knight from the castle rushed to her, scaring the animals away.

“Why would you make so much racket in the middle of our hunt?! This better new you have better be worthwhile or I’ll have you running laps around the town!” the princess complained. 

“I am truly sorry, your highness but his majesty has summoned you in the throne room right this instant so we better get a move on and not let the king wait.” the knight swiftly said.

-- 

“My daughter, I have some important news for you. For all of our sakes and for our people’s sake, you are to be given as the token of our loyalty to the Barbarians.” the king stated with no emotions.

You scoffed at this. “Why me? You have tons of gold and brilliant stones! I do not get why it must be me that is given. How about what I want?! How about my say in all of this?!” 

“You will obey your father whether you like it or not! For once be useful to this family you ungrateful child! You will be given to King Bakugou and you will be taken as his wife. Resistance is futile because I have already sent the signed papers” the king stated, more aggressively this time.

“Are you fucking kidding me?! Is my freedom and happiness too much to ask from you? A loveless marriage for the sake of who, yourselves?! I doubt this is for the sake of the people. I’d rather die!” her voice started to shake.

“You will do no such thing as to kill yourself. Your wedding to King Bakugou is absolute and I will hear no further complains. Please my loyal men, escort the princess out of here.” 

“You fucking old man! Mark my words I will come back for you, not in joy, but to have you punished!” She screeched. 

--

The night was quiet for the sulking princess and no other thing could lift her spirits up other than to visit Prince Shouto. She snuk out of the castle once more and was warmly greeted by the guards in the Endeavor Palace. 

The ruler there, Enji, took care of business outside the town so only the princes and princess Fuyumi were in the castle. 

She was quickly escorted to Prince Shouto’s headquarters and she flung the door open and hugged the prince, finally letting the tears fall. “Shouto I am getting married to a man I don’t love! My father is the worst I fucking hate him. He is always against me!” 

Shouto understood the feeling of resent towards their father. That was the thing they both strongly had in common, dealing with the fathers they wish weren’t theirs. 

“It cant be that bad (Y/n)” Shouto said while trying to wipe her tears away. He cupped her face and asked “To whom are you to be wed anyway?”

The prince’s world stopped when he heard her answer. 

[kenzumekodma]

icarus!Hawks, background Hawks x reader, sfw

wc: 1.1k

warnings: minor angst, implied breakup, hero turned villain

a/n: my lil bit for @doinmybesthere’s weekly writing challenge. hawks is probably ooc while i catch up with the manga but i had an idea and i am ✨t r y i n g✨

summary: hawks becomes disillusioned with the commission after the raid on the paranormal liberation front’s headquarters. for better or worse, he takes matters into his own hands.

Standing at the top of the Commission building, Keigo spread his wings and leapt. From your vantage point on the street below him you could see his silhouette dark against the blinding sun. The two melded into one against the sunset, painting the sky rich shades of pink and orange, the number two hero’s feathers peppering flecks of red around him.

Your heart climbed into your throat. After two years, you thought you would have gotten it through your brain that he wouldn’t hit the ground, but that worry had been constant since you met him. Hawks let himself freefall for six, seven, eight floors, and your voice seized in your chest. Just as you were about to run over to where you calculate he would have landed in a few seconds if he kept this shit up, he righted himself and glided down to where you were standing and staring, your jaw still slack.

“Got you good there, didn’t I?” Keigo said, having the audacity to laugh.

“Very fucking funny, birdbrain,” you said back. You gave him a gentle smack to the shoulder.

“Now now, that’s no way to treat your favourite hero,” he tutted.

“Shut up, I was worried,” you mumbled, burying your face in his chest. He gave your scalp a soft kiss, still smiling. “One day you’re going to get yourself killed that way.”

“C’mon home, I have something I want to talk to you about.” says Keigo softly.

“You what?!” your voice dropped to barely above a whisper.

“I… ah. I quit the Commission. I need to get you moved somewhere else so they don’t come after you.”

“Like hell! I’m not going anywhere. I thought you knew me better than that,” you said, clenching your jaw. “What’s so bad about having a cushy job with the commission anyways?”

“Look, I don’t expect you to go without a fight. I need you to know, though, that they’re indirectly creating more villains. They’re going out of their way to silence anyone who doesn’t agree with them,” his words steeled, frustration bubbling under the surface. “I just… I can’t be responsible for that anymore,” Keigo’s voice broke. “Not after what happened with Twice. It’s not worth it anymore.”

You reached out a hand to touch his face. “Twice…? The villain? No, you’re right baby, no job is worth your peace of mind. So you left the HPSC. What now?”

Keigo took a deep breath, looking more serious than you’ve ever seen. “They had me working with the League of Villains, infiltrating for them. One of my… coworkers, you could say… there in the League, he was telling me about why he joined, because of Stain a few months back, in Hosu. The guy’s ideals, they’re… they’re good when you think about them. Think about how much more I could do for people their way. I could help the world for the better.”

You let go of the breath you didn’t know you were holding. “Keigo, are you hearing yourself? Help people? By becoming a villain?” you inch away from your spot beside him on the couch, the tenderness in your face dropped, replaced with quiet shock. “Leaving is one thing, I can live with that... Is that why you want me out of here so badly?”

Keigo noded. “Dabi, he, uh, he figured out that I have someone I care about. If he finds out who that is, I don't think he’d hesitate to use you against me. And the Commission, they’d go after you regardless...”

“So I’m being downgraded to a dirty little secret,” you stated. He swallowed, and at least had the decency to look ashamed at your words. “Keigo, I don’t think I can do that. That’s not the direction I want my life to go in. I love you, but I can’t do this.”

You stood up, shaking ever so slightly but doing your best to not let it show. Keigo reached out to you, a small comfort you think at first, though you recoil. You walked into your shared bedroom and locked the door. Ignoring your boyfriend’s knocks and pleads, you packed up as much of your stuff as would fit in a backpack. When you opened the door mid-knock, he froze.

“Baby, please…” Keigo began. You cut him off with an icy look, and made your way to the front door.

“I’ll be back tomorrow for the rest. I’m sorry, Keigo. Good luck,” you said, closing the door behind you.

It’s been six weeks since you left. Six weeks since Hawks watched the life he’d built up with you over the last two years crumble to dust in front of him in the span of an afternoon. He’d spent every day since then trying to regain the Front’s trust. Finally, Shigaraki had allowed for Hawks to put his loyalty to the test. Some may not call it the best distraction, but he’ll be damned if he lets this chance go to waste.

Shigaraki was clear in the objective: for Hawks to take down Endeavor or go down trying. Hawks had spent two weeks planning meticulously for this, the most important turning point in his life.

It’s not until he’s standing in line with Shigaraki and his cronies that he realizes he’s staring back at everything and everyone he’s ever loved from the outside. It was him who suggested the street outside your workplace would be a good place to make his debut as an official part of the Front, facing down Endeavor and his former colleagues. If only he can get you to see he’s right, he’s on the side of humanity and he’s going to win, then maybe you’ll come back to him. Right?

You step outside of the building to find out what the fuss is all about, and your heart stops dead in your chest. On one end of the street is the Flame Hero, and on the other is the man you’re not sure if you’ll ever stop loving. Dread ties your stomach in knots as each group walks toward each other, and you watch Keigo take to the skies.

Hawks opens his mouth as he coasts along the horizon. For the first time in forever, instead of just air and bugs, he tastes freedom. The wind whips his hair in and out of his face.

Heat licks at Hawks’ wings. Part of growing up, he supposes, is realizing your hero isn’t who you wanted them to be.

With that thought, Hawks flies higher, directly at the imposing number one hero eclipsing the light in the sky. He makes impact. As he falls out of the sky, he laughs, and he decides that the taste of freedom is bittersweet.

[bettsfic]

Hi betts, how do you separate yourself from your fanfiction works? As in having the mindset that ‘you are not your work’? I feel like I’ve fallen into the myth that positive feedback equates to readers liking me for me, when in most cases I imagine they’re solely interested in my content. I guess I’m expecting too much from fandom members? I just don’t feel like I belong to the fandom if it weren’t for my fanfiction. Thanks for your time.

this is a really great and really big question that for me anyway had far deeper roots in my mental health than i initially recognized. 

even before i found fandom, i strongly conflated love with being of use to someone, and then i would get upset that people used me. all of my relationships were either distant or volatile. i knew that i was the only thing all my relationships had in common, but i couldn’t figure out what i was doing wrong. 

what i was doing wrong was that i didn’t know how to love or be loved. i only knew how to need and be needed. i was defined wholly by my relationships with others; without them, i was no one. i changed everything about myself to fit with the people i was surrounded by. i had no ability whatsoever to see or assess myself. my worth was measured in others’ perception of me. if they hated me, i hated me. if they loved me...actually, i still hated me, because i believed that love was temporary, and it was only a matter of time they saw the “real” me and they would take their love away. it was much easier to mold myself into someone they could love. 

i once told a guy i was dating, i just want to be who you want me to be. and he looked at me like i was crazy, and asked, then how can i love you? 

when i found writing, i didn’t know what love really felt like. i only knew obsession and codependency. i didn’t know how to feel emotions in order to process them, so everything that had ever happened to me was still just sitting inside me, waiting. writing offered me a tool to begin working through the pile. it offered me a means to observe and validate myself, and feel my feelings. 

but when i was first developing a relationship with writing, i put so much of myself into it that i couldn’t help but use feedback as a measure of self-worth. 

i think to some degree, every artist needs a witness. almost everything we write exists to be made public to some degree, and it’s a totally normal thing to want to seek reception. but conflating other people liking you, and by extension your work, with your worthiness to exist, creates a lot of self-suffering.

i remember realizing that i had boxed myself into a corner, and i knew i had to reassess my perspective of myself and my work. i had found myself in the same position you describe, feeling bad because readers didn’t love me, they loved my writing (see: being of use and wondering why people always used me). especially with fanfic, which has so much to do with quantity, 90% of readers don’t even look at the fic writer’s name, let alone kudos or comment. reading is a self-fulfilling endeavor the same way eating is. all of us need stories to live. as writers, we’re just the chefs. when you eat a good meal, you don’t fall in love with the chef. most of the time you don’t even know their name. the food isn’t the chef and the story isn’t you. 

but also, i was, and always had been, disgusted and baffled by people who *did* love me, especially if i felt i had nothing useful to offer them. once, a friend of mine drove like 3 hours to come visit me for dinner, and then drove 3 hours back. for some reason i assumed he was on a road trip somewhere and just passing through. when he told me he had come just to hang out with me, my brain short-circuited. i couldn’t fathom why anyone would want to hang out with me like, for fun. 

after a few years of posting fic, a weird thing happened where a few people did seem to like *me* because of my writing, insofar as they would follow my blog and interact with me and eventually we became friends. there may even be people out there who like me and don’t interact with me. but that idea also kind of weirded me out for a long time, because i kept thinking, who am i? no one. i’m nothing. i’m boring. go read my writing, that’s what matters. 

and then i realized, i could not have it both ways. either i wanted to be seen, or i wanted to go unseen. i was schrödinger’s validation. 

so i think the very simple answer is “learn to love yourself,” but i was so far behind when it came to love, i didn’t know what loving yourself even meant. so i think a better adage is “learn love.” learn what love is, what it feels like, what it looks like. and then turn that definition on yourself and your work. 

i love myself, even when i mess up, even when i’m not meeting my expectations. i love my work, even when it’s bad. when other people love me and my work, that makes me happy. when they don’t, that’s fine, because i still have plenty of my own love left. 

in practicality, for a few years i basically had to constantly chant to myself “what other people think of me is not my business.” a reader’s relationship with your writing is not your obligation to know or control. it’s only your obligation to create the stories you want to tell, and maybe you share them so you can share the love you put into them, or maybe you don’t. maybe you eat the meal you cook, or maybe you share it with someone else. whether they like it or not has no bearing on who you are. it’s all just personal taste.

more importantly, you can’t generate self-beliefs externally. someone’s opinion of you or your work cannot define you, because no one has a wider view of you than you. you are the expert of yourself. it took me a long time to change all of my self-beliefs, or what i’ve come to call “life sentences,” into statements of temporality and priority. “i’m brave” turned into “i value courage.” “i’m bad at directions” turned into “sometimes i get turned around.” every time i’m about to make a sweeping judgment of myself, i try to recast it into something more malleable, because every state of the self is temporary, and i always want to give myself the opportunity to grow.

i won’t lie and say i have a totally healthy relationship with my writing. i still get jealous sometimes, although it’s much briefer and more bearable than it used to be. i still get deeply annoyed by tactless or rude feedback, but i rarely get upset. i *do* get upset when someone sends me a link to a forum or thread of people making fun of me; i think it’s hard to unlearn that. sometimes i still feel the need to defend or justify or apologize for my work. and i definitely still compulsively refresh my comment inbox whenever i post something i’m proud of. but for the most part, i’m in a much better place than i used to be.

currently i’m working on making peace with the idea of publication, that my original work treads a morally risky line that is easily misunderstood, and i’m publishing into a world of mob mentality and cancel culture. and moreover, once a work is published, once it’s out there, it can never go back in. i’m trying to figure out whether i’m confident enough now in my work to still stand by it in ten years or fifty. i’m also freaked out about how anything i publish will outlive me. as someone who has always lived with existential dread, it’s terrifying to think i may write something that could be read in a hundred years, that my voice might live longer than my body. there is a very slim chance of it, but as i’ve mentioned before, i think it’s better to plan more for success than failure. 

i’m not sure if any of this is helpful, but it’s the path i took to get where i am. i wish you the best of luck navigating your relationship with your work. 

my carrd | writing advice masterdoc

[leapyearkisses]

And OMG, They Were Rollmates (m/m) - Oneshot

A D&D-inspired ficlet about an elf wizard and a human ranger sharing a bedroll, and also they fuck. And there are some feelings because I’m incapable of writing porn without them.

NSFW, MESS, sneezing on people

---

Ingvar poked a stick between the smoldering logs he'd stacked in the firepit, but stabbing the coals did nothing to make the fire any bigger or warmer. The wood was just too wet, even this deep into the forest. The thick canopy couldn't protect against the north's seasonal storms. It was just poor luck that he and Aravel had to travel this way at this time of year. It was going to be another cold night. He sneaked a look at his travelling companion, who was setting up their tent.  Aravel blended uncannily into the scenery here. Maybe it wasn't surprising, him being a wood elf. His skin was the fine, rich red-brown of cherry wood. His hair was a greeny bronze that mimicked the hanging moss of his home forest. Even his eyes were camouflage, golden and catlike. In the dark, they reflected the firelight like those of a mountain lion, and Ingvar had been spooked more than once. Combine all that with Aravel's leaf-like, layered robes, and it was hard to pick him out at twenty paces. Ingvar had been trained as a ranger since he could walk, and he was jealous of Aravel's natural, inborn ease among all things wooded. "Almost ready?" Ingvar asked after another minute. Their tent was small, only big enough for two people and a dog. They'd unfortunately lost Ingvar's hunting hound in a landslide a few days ago, along with Aravel's pack, so it was going to be colder than he liked inside. "We only have the one bedroll," Aravel said, stepping back from his work. He was still limping, but there wasn't much they could do about that. 

Ingvar rubbed his own aching elbow. "Well, we'll just have to make do. Come over and let's eat." He produced some wolf jerky from his pouch and shared it out when Aravel came to sit beside him. "How are you feeling?" It wasn't just the landslide that prompted the question. For the last few hours, he'd noticed Aravel slowing down, stumbling occasionally, even sneezing once or twice. Really, it was just their luck. The elf shrugged. "I'm falling ill," he replied wearily. "We should have made camp in Boarstead." He rubbed his slim hands together and held them over the sad excuse for a fire. "We didn't know it was going to be so difficult to cross the pass," Ingvar pointed out. "And you didn't know you would take sick. Did you?" "No," Aravel was quick to say. "No, I would have told you." Hiding such things on the road could lead to mistakes, sometimes fatal ones. "Then it was all inevitable," said Ingvar. He started to rub Aravel's back. "We can share the bedroll. I don't want you to get any worse." "I think hih- that's inevitable as well," Aravel mumbled, leaning into the touch. He tucked his face into his elbow. "Hpptsch! Hh- hh- hh- hh-- haptschiu!" Ingvar chuckled. "Didn't think you'd get that one out, there." "Be silent," said Aravel, primly, before sneezing again. It wasn't quite dark yet when they turned in, but night fell extremely quickly in the forest and it was best to be tucked in and completely settled before losing the light. They washed up as best they could with a few handfuls of water, packed the remaining bag tightly and hung it from a tree, and tried to stoke the fire as much as possible. Ingvar pissed in a circle around their camp to keep away curious animals, a practice he was not able to get Aravel to join in on. Then they entered the tent. The bedroll was narrow but also a necessity. "You first," said Aravel. "You're bigger. I can fit in afterward." So Ingvar climbed inside. He was tall but leanly muscled. He didn't think this whole endeavor would work if he was packing slabs like the warriors they often passed in town, huge beefy fellows who hired themselves out to defend homesteads or hunt bandits. They all seemed to have the same hairstyle, too, a tail at the neck. Seemed to Ingvar like a good place for an opponent to grab you and slit your throat. He wore his own black hair short when he was on the road. Just more practical. 

Once he was settled, he held open the fabric for Aravel. "We'll go back to back," said the elf, and attempted such, but they soon found that the bedroll wasn't wide enough for their knees to point in opposite directions. Normally, Ingvar would have offered to spoon his smaller companion - had done so many times when travelling with various folk - but Aravel actually kept his own mossy hair quite long, and after about three minutes of blowing hair out of his mouth, Ingvar nixed that plan. Aravel had to get out again, then back in, carefully sliding in behind Ingvar, and that seemed to do the trick. It was so tight that Ingvar could feel Aravel's lips on the back of his neck, and the elf had had to tuck his arms around Ingvar's torso. At least the exertion of struggling in and out would keep them warm for now. Ingvar didn't think they would be moving again until daybreak. "Comfortable?" he asked, pointlessly. Aravel's breath was warm on his skin. "More or less," Aravel murmured back. "Good enough, anyway..." And then his breath fluttered uncertainly. "Ingvar..." "Yes? Hey, you can't-" Aravel had started wriggling against him, trying to extract an arm that was wound under Ingvar's own. It made his elbow hurt again and he gritted his teeth. "What is it?? We don't really have a lot of room, here!" "I know, I'm sorry, but I hh have to sneeze! Hah-" Aravel kept tugging, but he'd only managed to jostle them; his arm was still stuck down inside the bedroll when he was overcome. "Haptschiu!" His nose bumped against Ingvar's neck, which was suddenly moist from the spray. Ingvar shivered a little from the sensation, partially from discomfort. "...Bless you." Aravel's skin heated. "I'm so sorry," he said. "Honestly. I'll try not to sneeze." He extricated his arm carefully, finally, so he could rub his nose and dry Ingvar's neck with his sleeve. When he was done, though, there was nowhere for him to put it but back into the bedroll. It hurt Ingvar's back if Aravel tucked his arm anywhere but where it had been before, settled on his hip and chest. It quickly became clear to them both that Aravel struggling to cover every time he felt a tickle was just impractical. It was tiring, painfully jostling, and most of the time not even fast enough to make a difference. Finally, Ingvar just folded his hand over Aravel's. "It's okay," he said. "It's okay. Try to get some sleep. I'll wash up in the morning and we'll forget about it." Aravel's hand was soft and trembling lightly. Ingvar gave it a squeeze. "....If you say so." The elf was clearly reluctant, but he already sounded half asleep. "Sorry." "Shh." Ingvar settled, closing his eyes. He was tired after a long day of travel, and whether their arrangement was for better or worse, he was warm. It was quiet outside. The trees were full of the sounds of night, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. He could rest. Or, well. He did want to. But even mostly asleep, Aravel was still unfortunately stricken with illness, and his breathing fluttered with every small itch. He made soft, irritated sounds. He hitched, sometimes for quite some time, before subsiding. Or before working himself up to sneeze again. "Ah... hih... ih- hih-" Ingvar rubbed his thumb over Aravel's knuckles. "Hah-- Haptsch! Apttschih!" Aravel trembled and moaned softly. He pressed his nose to Ingvar's neck, seeking some sleeping aid for the torturous irritation. Maybe every few minutes, then maybe longer, Ingvar felt a gentle, wet burst against the back of his neck. It was an experience unlike any he'd had before in his life, and he had trouble categorizing it into "good" or "bad." Finally, it seemed as though exhaustion won out, and Aravel subsided into a deeper sleep, sniffling but blissfully still. Ingvar tried to match him, and soon enough he also fell asleep. In the predawn, maybe close to 4 AM, Ingvar woke. Some sound had woken him, triggering his honed ranger instincts. A soft sound, quivering in the darkness. Aravel, he realized after a moment. He could feel the elf's chest rising against his back. Aravel was awake, he thought, and it was confirmed when he felt the elf curl his fingers tightly in the fabric of Ingvar's jerkin. "No," Aravel whispered, obviously self-directed. He groaned lightly and Ingvar heard his breath catch sharply in the dark. "Huah-- Aa" He was clearly going to sneeze again - maybe this is what had woken him to begin with - and it sounded itchy and urgent. "Aa- AA- Apptschh! Happtschuh!" Aravel's body was tense behind his, and his nose and lips were crushed to Ingvar's skin when he sneezed. He felt the rush of air, light spray, and a sudden hot wetness against his neck. Aravel coughed lightly and sniffed hard, the sound thick. Aa. Well, he probably wasn't feeling much better then. Ingvar wondered if he should move, say something... but Aravel had started up again. "Hah- hhah- hahktschiu! Ohh... Aa- Haksh! Hh-Hngksch! Ahkttschxgh!"  There was another rush of mess, pooling at his neck. Ingvar supposed he should have been revolted or something, but his brain was currently fixated on a different feeling entirely. Aravel was pressed all along his back, tightly, and he could feel the hard line of the elf's cock against his backside. Now, this was an inevitability, and something he'd experienced with other companions as well, part of the drill. But he'd rarely traveled with anyone whose sleeping interest spurred him to offer reciprocation. Aravel was sick, but that didn't really hamper Ingvar's steady interest, which had been growing since they started travelling together three months ago. And he didn't enjoy the frustrated noises Aravel was making as he wrestled with his wet nose. Ingvar squeezed Aravel's hand. "Hey," he said softly. "I'm sorry," mumbled the elf. His fingers twitched in Ingvar's grasp. "I know. It's okay. Let's come out of the bedroll for a minute." Aravel agreed, and the two of them managed to wriggle out. It was somewhat more difficult with limbs heavy from sleep, but soon both were seated in the very small tent. The air outside of the bedroll was starkly cold, and without thinking about it, Ingvar wrapped his arms around Aravel and pulled the smaller man to straddle his lap. "Wh-" "How do you feel? Can I do this?" Ingvar put one arm around Aravel's lower back to keep him steady. He rested his other hand on the elf's hip. "You tell me to stop if you want to stop." Aravel looked tired and somewhat uncertain in the dark. His upper lip and chin were shiny with mess before he abruptly buried his face in his elbow. "It's hahh fine. I... I'm fine with it." Maybe he would have been blushing, but he ducked further into his sleeve. "Huahh-- Hapkstcxh!!" His whole body rocked with it, and he was still hard. Ingvar could feel the press of Aravel's member against his own. "Bless you," he said, and kissed the elf's hair. "Are you warm enough?" "Hnngh... I'm not cold." "Is it okay if I touch?" "It's- hh hh hih- Hhokay. Aptschiu!!" Again, Aravel rocked.  Ingvar kissed him again and then moved his hand from Aravel's hip to between them. He slipped his hand under the elf's robes, finding velvety bare skin awaiting him. Aravel's cock fit in his palm and he closed his fingers around it gently, skin slipping on the beginning of wetness there. "Okay?" Aravel nodded. His cat eyes had gone half-lidded and he was biting his lip. "I might sneeze on you," he said, breathless. Ingvar laughed. "Tell me something I don't know." He rested his forehead against Aravel's. "You're paying for me to have a niiiice, long bath at the next inn we get to." That earned a wry smile. "I'd love to... but my wallet went over the cliff with my bag, remember?" Ingvar squeezed Aravel's cock, earning him a pleased moan. "That's right, isn't it. Then you can make it up to me in a different way." He nuzzled Aravel's hairline. "Can I kiss you?" "Yes, kiss me." Aravel sighed into his mouth, thighs trembling as Ingvar started to stroke him up and down. The elf tasted sweet and salty. Ingvar wondered for a moment if that's what his cock would taste like as well, but there would be time to find out later. Right now, he wanted to bring them both to pleasure before they got too cold to want it. Aravel curled against him as he worked, tucking his face into his sleeve still, catching and guarding against his frequent sniffles and sneezes. Ingvar ran a thumb over Aravel's tip and was rewarded with the sweetest moan. He teased again. "M' going to bite you," gasped Aravel, taking Ingvar's shoulders in both hands. "Please, please." "Easy, sweet one." Ingvar tightened his grip. "Ready?" He knew the elf was close, could feel it in the way he kept tensing his thighs against Ingvar's own. "Yes," Aravel half-sighed, nails just this side of painful in Ingvar's back. "Now, please." They kissed again, and Ingvar worked his hand over Aravel until the smaller man could do nothing but cling and gasp, shaking, as he came explosively over Ingvar's hand and lap. Ingvar followed soon after, although his release was trapped by his breeches. Not ideal, but he could hardly think of that with Aravel still pressed to him, chest heaving, warm and pliant. And sneezy still. "Happtsch! Akptsch! hah- HAH- HUAH-KTSCGH!!" Ingvar laughed and started to rub Aravel's back again, holding him close. "Bless you." Now the front of his neck was messy, too, but the aftershocks of his orgasm relaxed him and he found he didn't care at the moment. "How do you feel?" Aravel sniffled thickly, not moving from where he was leaning against Ingvar. "Tired. Good, but... mnn." "Let's go back to sleep. Hopefully your nose won't bother you too much now. Sounds like you must have got it out, whatever was bothering you." "I don't think that's how it works with a cold," Aravel replied, voice already muzzy.  Ingvar settled him again against his back in the bedroll. "I'll wake you in the morning to strike camp," he said, taking Aravel's hand again in his. "Sleep well." And at least the rest of the night went well. Aravel did sleep soundly until day broke and they had to move on. His sneezing failed to abate in the daytime, however, and when he began to stumble with fever, Ingvar picked him up to carry on his back, strapping their pack to his front. He'd not been expecting to have to deal with it again, but rather than distaste, Aravel's continued sneezing on his neck now made him feel something quite different. He hurried on through the forest to get them both out of the chill and into a nice, warm bed.

[iidascalves]

First patrol (Hawks x reader)

So I got a little carried away writing the beginning of this one, but I just REALLY love Mirko. I wasn’t sure what to use as the reader’s quirk so I just did the ability to create telekinetic force fields with energy in different shapes and shit. Also, (h/n) will mean your hero name. Once I finished I writing this I decided it was a little long so I split it into two parts. I guess this first part can be considered a various x reader lol. I’ll post part 2 soon! I’m having a lot of fun with these so please don’t be shy to send requests or asks! Thanks :)

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“THAT’S NOT FUCKING FAIR” Bakugou screeched in the common room.

“I literally don’t know what you want me to say.” You stared blankly at Bakugou as he was practically foaming at the month. His hands began to emit smoke.

“Kacchan, calm down! (Y/n), I’m happy you got such a great opportunity!” Izuku tries to congratulate you while holding a death grip on Bakugou’s arm. “You and Mirko will make a great duo!”. You smiled at his reassurance and braced yourself for his detailed mutterings about the specifics of both your and your future mentor’s quirks.

“Thank you. I’m excited but nervous.” You shifted in your seat while your hands were in tight fists. “I’m excited to prove myself.”

“I’ve met Mirko before. She’ll enjoy working with you, I’m sure of it.” Todoroki spoke for the first time all evening from the dinner table as he slurped cold soba. You honestly had forgotten he was there.

“Oh yeah! Your father and Mirko team up sometimes, right?” Izuku mentioned as he turned on the couch to face Todoroki.

“Yes.” Todoroki took a slurp of soba before continuing. “If you run into him, be wary. He’s more concerned about his reputation than a rookie looking for guidance or protection. That’s why Hawks does his own thing most of the time. My dad can’t be bothered with anyone else.”

“I’m sure (y/n) will be in good hands with Mirko.” Izuku tried to ease the tension in the room. As Todoroki is a man of few words, it’s rare for him to share things like this. You decided you should head to bed to prepare for your long day tomorrow.

“Alright guys. Thanks for chatting with me. I’m off to bed.” After replies of good nights and wishes of luck, you tried sleep off the anxiety until tomorrow.

_____________________________________________________________

“Ready to rumble, (y/n)?!” Mirko enthusiastically greeted you when you entered her office.

“Yes Ma’am! Thank you for letting me join you today!” You bowed to Mirko and straightened up as you heard her walking toward you.

“No need to be so formal!” Mirko gave you a big slap on the back as she passed you. With your back aching and stinging, you closely followed her to the elevator. “I don’t take just anyone out to patrol with me, (Y/n). You got something special, kid.” She gave you a large smile as the elevator door closed. You were thrilled to finally start your internship, with your idol none the less.

“Thank you, Rumi. It means a lot coming from you.” You tried to calm the reddening of your face as you two descend to the lobby of her agency.

“Don’t sweat it! And remember that on the street I’m Mirko. Right, (h/n)?” Mirko smiled at you as the elevator rang.

_____________________________________________________

After a few hours of patrol you and Mirko still hadn’t had any calls or serious confrontations. Although popperazzi and other media outlets seemed to follow you both everywhere, they were only taking pictures from a distance as not to interfere. “Sorry that this is such a quiet day. I wanted to see you in action!” Mirko began chatting with you and you two walked.

“No, it’s alright. Something is bound to come up anyway, right?” You smiled and continued to survey your surroundings. A teenage boy ran up.

“You’re Mirko, right?” His face was a deep red.

“The one and only! Want a picture or something?” Mirko smiled at the boy. His head whipped around before his eyes frantically landed on you.

“Hi. Can you take our picture, please?” You held up the fan’s phone to take a picture with Mirko.

“1,2,3, smile!” You continued taking a few pictures until Mirko put her hand up to her ear intercom. You handed the phone back to the guy and awaited news. Mirko nodded at you after coming off the intercom.

“Let’s go. No time to waste.” Mirko turned serious as she dashed off to the lower part of town. You used your quirk to manifest a board to ride on in order to keep up.

As unfamiliar buildings flew past, you couldn’t recall seeing the surrounding landmarks on the sheet of information Mirko gave you about your sector.

“Mirko, are we close?” You grew anxious and unsure as you approached the scene.

“Yeah,” Mirko grinned as she gained momentum by swinging off a lamppost. “Stay sharp. This is uncharted territory for you.” You nodded and picked up speed, feeling the wind press against you.

Finally, you saw the scene you were summoned to. A monstrous villain was holding a car with a family trapped inside above his head. You didn’t recognize the villain, he was most likely an angry civilian that snapped. The villain was towering about thirty feet above you. He was angrily screaming, the veins on his neck and arms were bulging and strained. It was obvious this guy never used his quirk like this before.

“You think he used an enhancer?” You kept your eyes glued to the car the villain gripped.

“Probably.” Mirko’s smirk wavered and her brows furrowed. “Bunch of bastards have been juicing up and wrecking shit recently.” The villain began to shake the car and screech in anger.

“I’ll get the car, you get the guy?” You asked Mirko as your eyes focused in on the car and you activated your quirk.

“Read my mind. Just give me a boost.” Mirko smirked and slid a foot back in preparation to jump. “Let’s go.” Mirko lept sideways causing the villain to whip his head in her direction. You raised your left hand and manifested a platform under the car. Your right arm shot out as you made a small platform about seven feet in the air for Mirko to vault off of. Your eyes remained on the car as you heard Mirko’s feet pound on the platform and you saw a swift white streak knock the villain from under the vehicle. While Mirko repeatedly kicked the villain into submission, you lowered the car with the clamoring family to the ground. You ran to the car and escorted each member to the side where a small crown was gathered. You turned to see Mirko with the villain in a suffocating leg triangle. The villain’s screeching quieted and his body began to lose muscle and shrink.

“Mirko, should we take him in for questioning?” You pulled handcuffs out of your pocket and placed them into Mirko’s outstretched hand.

A gust of wind passed behind you making the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. You also felt an intense warmth behind you. “We can take him off your hands. You’re in our jurisdiction after all.” You spun around to see Endeavor and Hawks. Your hands clenched and your chest tightened at the sight of the two top heroes.

“Number 1 and 2, always a pleasure.” Mirko hauled the villain to his feet. “So what if we’re in your jurisdiction? You guys didn’t get here fast enough. That’s why we were called.” Mirko smirked.

“Mirko,” Endeavor began to speak. ” we were being briefed on an important future mission. Our delay was expected so they called you and uhh.. Shouto’s classmate.”

“’Shouto’s classmate’ is not the name of my intern, Endeavor.” Mirko put a hand on her hip and raised a brow at the number one hero. Her ears perked up at the arrival of an idea. “How about this: we walk this jerk to the precinct and do introductions over some lunch?”.

“As long as the place has chicken.” Hawks smiled at Mirko. You wanted to admire his handsome features, but decided against it out of fear of embarrassment if he caught you. “Endeavor treats since he was the reason we’re late!”. Endeavor crossed his arms and sighed. He then began walking in the direction of the precinct. Mirko and Hawks shared a laugh and Mirko began hauling the villain behind Endeavor. You paused before following. Your eyes were still trained on Endeavor. You wondered if he would have cooperated at all if you fought with him instead of Mirko. Hell, he didn’t even bother to learn your name after being friends with Shouto for the past year.

“So what’s your deal, kid?”. Hawks was suddenly walking by your side. You tensed at his sudden presence and looked ahead towards Mirko.

“My deal?” You glanced at him to see if his eyes were still on you, eyes briefly meeting before your head turned.

“Yeah. Does Endeavor spook you or something?”

“No.” You could feel your face getting warm. “He’s just intimidating, I guess. And hearing what Shouto has to say about him doesn’t really help.” You didn’t like being questioned like this.

“I get that. He’s a shitty dad.” Hawks stretched as you two walked. “He’s also a pretty difficult guy to get to know. He’s starting to change for the better though. But his social skills are still shit.” Hawks looked over at you to make sure his remark made you smile. He knew if he kept talking you’d loosen up and get more comfortable. “How’s your first patrol going?”

You glanced at him and smiled. “I can’t complain about lunch with the top two heroes.” Hawks laughed.

“Yeah, I guess. I’d say you’re doing pretty well for your first time. Mirko doesn’t team up with just anyone, you know.” Your face got even warmer as you became flustered once again.

“I’m mainly only good for defense and rescue.” You looked away from Hawks and started to fidget with your hands.

“Don’t be modest, kid. I saw you rescue that family back there.” Your face was own fire upon hearing his praise. “Also saw you kick ass at the sports festival. If it were up to me, I’d have you do more offense training.”

“T-thanks.” You said shyly as you scanned around you for something to look at to distract you from your own embarrassment. Things remained pretty quiet as you continued to walk to the precinct.