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aurorasulphur · 1 year ago

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Disclaimer: none of these answers are official, and may not work for your particular use case. If there is a specific feature that an unofficial app had that you don't know how to replicate on the AO3, let me know in the notes and we might can crowdsource a solution.

A lot of people used the Archive Reader app to access stories on Archive of Our Own, and have been upset that the app is now charging to read longer than an hour a day. AO3 (and its parent organization, the OTW) has made it extremely clear in recent days that this app is unofficial and that there *is* no official app. They encourage people to use the website.

However, there are MANY reasons you might want an app, and in a bunch of those cases, there are ways to do those things without having to provide your login information to a random person running an app. Here is a round-up of solutions to the most common reasons I've seen people give for wanting an app instead of the plain AO3 website.

These solutions are based on the following assumptions:

You know what Archive of Our Own is

You often or primarily access it through a mobile device running iOS or Android

You understand what a browser is

You understand what a browser bookmark is

You understand what a site skin is

Edits:

Edited to clarify that you must be logged in to use custom site skins

Edited to add more tips and tricks from the reblogs

Edited to add new entry about notifications/emails

Edited to add new entry about reading statistics and the tracking thereof

I need a widget on my phone's homescreen, not just a browser bookmark.

You can do this with any website, not just AO3! Instructions here: https://www.howtogeek.com/196087/how-to-add-websites-to-the-home-screen-on-any-smartphone-or-tablet/

I need Dark Mode.

AO3 has a default site skin for Dark Mode, it's just called Reversi. Find it here, or at the bottom of any page on the website. https://archiveofourown.org/skins/929/

If you'd like Dark Mode on your whole browser (and you're on Android), sorrelchestnut has advice here: https://www.tumblr.com/sorrelchestnut/737869282153775104/if-you-want-dark-mode-and-dont-want-to-mess

I need to be able to read stories when I don't have internet.

Every work on the AO3 has a download button, so you can click on that and download the story for offline reading in the ereader app of your choice. More info on how to do that is in the AO3 FAQs: https://archiveofourown.org/faq/downloading-fanworks?language_id=en#accesslater

I need to be able to change the text size of the website itself.

If you have an AO3 account (and you should!!) you can do this with a personalized site skin! There is a simple tutorial here: https://www.tumblr.com/ao3skin/667284237718798336/i-have-a-request-if-you-dont-mind-could-you

I need to be able to change the text size in downloaded stories.

My personal recommendation: Don't download in PDF format. All the other formats you can download in can scale the text size up and down, assuming you open the work in the correct app. For me, I download works in EPUB format and read them on the built-in Books app on my iPhone. I hear good things about Moon Reader on Android as well.

I need to be able to replace Y/N in fics with an actual name.

ElectricAlice has a bookmarklet for that here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34796935

I need to be able to save specific tags and not have to search them up every time.

If you have an AO3 account (which you definitely should) then you can favorite up to 20 tags which will appear on the landing page. The AO3 FAQ explains how that works: https://archiveofourown.org/faq/tags?language_id=en#favtag

I need to be able to save specific filters and be able to apply them to any tag.

Reisling's beautiful bookmarklet has you covered: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33825019

I need to be able to permanently hide certain tags.

The best option is adding this to your site skin. (Must be logged in.) Instructions here: https://www.tumblr.com/ao3css/719667033634160640/how-to-permanently-filter-out-certain-tags-on-ao3

I also hear things about the AO3 Enhancements extension (just for Android/desktop, sorry iOS folks): https://www.tumblr.com/emotionalsupportrats/686787582579851265/browser-extension-everyone-on-ao3-should-know

I need it to save my place on the page and not reload.

This is really mostly a browser error--Firefox on iOS does this to me A LOT. Your best bet is to download the work and read it in an ereader app. A lot of people also will make an ao3 bookmark and write in the notes section which part they were at, but that assumes you aren't falling asleep while reading. (Which is the main reason I have this issue, lol.) For more info on bookmarks, see the FAQ: https://archiveofourown.org/faq/bookmarks?language_id=en#whatisbookmark

I need it to keep track of which stories I've already read/opened/kudos'd.

If you have an account (which you should) then the "My History" page keeps track of every fic you've ever clicked on. No, it isn't searchable or sortable, but it does exist. For fics you've kudos'd, I have yet to find a solution for iOS. For desktop or Android, you can use this excellent userscript: https://greasyfork.org/en/scripts/5835-ao3-kudosed-and-seen-history

@the-sleepy-archivist and @inkandarsenic have a solution for iOS here to use userscripts: https://www.tumblr.com/the-sleepy-archivist/737895174683885568/this-is-a-great-guide-one-thing-i-can-help-with and https://www.tumblr.com/inkandarsenic/737827438571192320/the-user-scripts-will-also-work-on-ios-there-are

I need an app because the website's search is terrible.

(I genuinely don't understand this one but I have seen it multiple times so on the list it goes!!) The search bar at the top of the screen is a keyword search. If you'd rather search within a specific field (like title or tag) then you'll want to click on the word "search" at the top of the screen and select Work Search or Tag Search. To search users, use People Search. To search Bookmarks, use Bookmark Search. (If this is you, please tell me what the heck you mean by "search is bad" and how an app helped with this.)

I need to be able to sort stories by date posted/number of bookmarks/alphabetical/etc.

You can do this using the filters sidebar. Pick a tag you want to filter on (like a fandom, character, or relationship) and then click on the "Filters" button. The sidebar will pop out and you can sort and filter on a boggling array of specifics. A good filtering guide: https://www.tumblr.com/saurons-pr-department/718665516093472768/if-there-is-something-you-dont-want-to-see-in

I need to be able to mark stories to read later.

AO3 has this feature built in! If you have an account (which you should) there is a "Mark for Later" option on every work.

Edit: Thispersonishuman reminded me that History and Mark For Later can be disabled, so if you're not seeing the Mark for Later option, check your settings.

I need to be able to listen to stories using text-to-speech.

Microsoft Edge web browser has a built in text to speech function. Supposedly it works on both iOS and Android, but I have not personally tested that. iOS also has a native accessibility feature in settings for text to speech that will work on the Books app, so I assume Android has a similar functionality. A bunch of people in the reblogs have more in-depth Android recommendations here: https://www.tumblr.com/protect-namine/737957194510794752/seconding-voice-aloud-on-android-for-tts-my, https://www.tumblr.com/smallercommand/737884523093704704/i-use-voice-for-tts-on-android-its-got-some, and https://www.tumblr.com/doitninetimes/737869463749263360/for-text-to-speech-on-android-you-can-also-check

I need to have in-app notifications for updates/I can't ever find story updates in among the rest of my emails/checking my email stresses me out.

Set up a separate email address using a free service like gmail, and use that email address JUST for AO3. Then the only emails in that inbox will be your story updates. I use Apple's Mail application for all my inboxes, but it's very easy to use the Gmail app instead, and you could log in to JUST the ao3 email and set it to notify for every email.

(Also as a general PSA: don't use your work, school, or military email as your AO3 email. Just don't.)

I want statistics like how many hours I spent reading, how many words I read, what my most read tags were, stuff like that.

So we've finally hit something that isn't easy and that requires a hell of a lot of manual work. Short version: AO3 does not track this data because they don't want to. (Mostly due to privacy concerns.) The lack of this tracking is a feature, not a bug. You can crunch these numbers yourself, but it will take a hell of a lot more effort, and it's something I personally found is not worth the effort the couple of times I have tried to crunch those numbers. If you are willing to download your history to an actual computer (not a tablet or chromebook) using Calibre, you can get a rough idea of your most popular tags via their tag browser, but it won't play nice with typos synned to a Common Tag (Canonical Tag/filterable tag) like ao3 does. (If anyone has used an app that gave you stats on this, please let me know in reblogs/replies/via ask how that worked because I am very curious.)

I need an app because <other reason>.

The AO3 Unofficial Browser Tools FAQ might cover your use case: https://archiveofourown.org/faq/unofficial-browser-tools?language_id=en If not, give a shout and we'll see what other tumblr users suggest!

#ao3 #archive of our own #ao3 app #ao3 tips #if you want official answers please use the contact forms on the ao3 or otw websites #standard disclaimer that while i am an otw volunteer i do not speak for the organization #my opinions are my own and do not represent anyone else

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amywritesthings · 9 months ago

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dating on airplane mode. | part one.

( Read on AO3 )

Pairing: levi ackerman x f!reader (attack on titan / shingeki no kyojin) Word Count: 3.9k Summary: So you're dating your neighbor who also happens to be a sex hotline dom named Levi Ackerman. Stranger things have happened, right?

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI - alternate universe (modern), slow burn, eventual smut, sex work, neighbors au, newly established relationship, dual pov, the direct sequel to Press Four For More Options Credits: dividers by @saradika-graphics submitted for @levievent 's #levimonth24 / day 22: neighbors

part two. | masterlist

“I'm seeing someone.”

Tea goes flying — metaphorically and physically.

When he confessed a new (and very unexpected) development in his (borderline nonexistent) dating life, Levi hadn’t anticipated Hange Zoe turning directly towards Erwin Smith to unleash a devastating spit-take attack to the face.

It’s a direct hit.

Erwin heroically takes the brunt of the damage, so at least his furniture is spared.

(Levi didn’t need to spend the rest of the afternoon scrubbing down the already scrubbed-down living room.)

Hange’s shout is shrill, the realization hitting them like a full-throttle freight train.

“You’re what?”

“He said he’s seeing someone,” Erwin answers in monotone before Levi can even try.

The tall blonde extends a hand to leisurely grab the napkin cradling the bottom of his tea saucer. In true Erwin fashion, he doesn’t even blink at Hange’s dramatics — or their consequences unto him.

He raises the napkin to blot the side of his face sprinkled with a mixture of freshly-brewed lavender tea and Hange’s saliva.

(Then again, Hange could abruptly bang pots and pans in the middle of the night and Erwin would merely call it a minor inconvenience to his sleep routine.)

“No, no, I heard what he said,” Hange recovers with a crack to their voice, “but I can’t tell if he’s messing with us.”

“I’m not,” Levi flatly states.

“Okay, but how do we know?”

“Hange—”

Except it’s Erwin intercepting once more. “Because he would never pretend to have a significant other when one of his closest friends happens to be you.”

Hange squints, pushing their glasses up the bridge of their nose.

“Why? ‘Cause I joked that I’d stalk him the next time he finally found a date? That was one time, Erwin.”

Erwin rolls his neck to the right, offering Hange a pair of thick, disbelieving eyebrows.

“Technically speaking, Zoe, you threatened to stalk either of us if you caught even a sniff that we could be in the midst of a romantic pursuit. Plus, we’re well aware of the disguise kit collecting dust in the trunk of Moblit’s car.”

An instant shit-eating grin passes across their lips.

“Ha. Fair.”

If Levi’s eyeballs could roll any further into the back of his skull, they’d get stuck.

“However,” Erwin adds, those bold blue eyes flickering back towards Levi, “it doesn’t explain why we were in the dark until now. At the very least, we should hope you would feel safe enough to confide in us about someone you are serious about dating.”

Yeah.

Out of his two friends sitting across from him, Levi figured Erwin would be the most suspicious of the surprise announcement.

Now that it’s been a few days since That Fateful Night, he doesn’t feel as self-conscious to confess his new reality.

It was as good of a time as any to rip the proverbial band-aid off.

(Besides, it was only a matter of mistakes before his friends learned the truth for themselves.)

Hange, Erwin, Moblit — they’re his only remaining connections tying him to this city. The others from his gym days have all found offers in other towns, returned to their old homes—

Moved on.

Meeting Erwin Smith in boot camp changed the trajectory of his life, for better or worse.

Levi had known the man longer than he knew anyone else — but only by a few days and some change, considering he was destined (Hange’s words, not his) to meet the hyper scientist and their subdued partner, Moblit, in the army as well.

Then, as if attached to the hip, all four of them agreed to work at Erwin’s gym.

When that fell through, Erwin found the Scout Services Hotline.

— —

The announcement came to him one summer evening with a printed job description and a six pack of beer.

Levi assumed Erwin’s confession on taking a sex hotline job had been one weird, shitty joke.

Picturing stoic, pragmatic Erwin Smith telling people how to fuck themselves in their bedrooms late at night for the almighty dollar felt obscene.

Hell, it was obscene.

Levi didn’t want to consider his oldest friend in such a compromising position, but there it was laid before him without shame or fear of judgment.

Becoming a part-time sex worker for Erwin was as noncommittal as taking up a fleeting niche interest — like exotic bird watching or crocheting sweaters for fucking cats.

“At the gym, we improved upon people’s lives,” Erwin had told him while sipping his beer, staring out to the city sightline from Levi’s balcony. “Who has the authority to say this job isn’t doing something similar to those who may be lonely?”

“You would make yapping on a damn sex hotline prophetic,” Levi scoffed in return. “Selling some shitty porn script a dozen times a night sounds like the closest you could get to Hell.”

“I disagree,” Erwin argued without heat. “When I interviewed, they stated every employee is given the ability to do as they please. To show their strengths and make it their own.”

“Bullshit.”

“It isn’t.”

Erwin rested the beer bottle on the knee of his trousers.

“Flexible work hours give me the ability to find another place the gym can call home. The pay would certainly cover any initial costs after several years.”

“Several years?”

Levi frowned, sitting up straighter in his chair.

“Erwin… c’mon. Just take a second to listen to yourself.”

“I’m only offering a chance for you to do the same. You may not be fond of people, Levi, but you’re loyal to a stubborn fault.”

Erwin gave him a sidelong glance.

“I know you won’t put in applications to go to any other gym.”

“Tch.”

A dismissive sound was all he could muster at the time.

He always hated how Erwin could open the cavity of his chest and put his damn bleeding heart on display.

“Who says I haven’t been window shopping to pass the damn unemployment time?”

“I wish you would,” Erwin replied with a heavy sigh. “Your skills are better when in use, not lying waste with the rest of us.”

“Hange and Moblit’re doing just fine.”

Hange, a self-proclaimed babbler, returned to Paradis University to make headway on some fascinating research projects side by side with Moblit.

It was where they belonged, really.

“Fine, then lying waste with me.”

After a beat, Erwin slid his hand across the space between their chairs and held out a slip of paper.

"Look it over. Really sit down and think about what you did for our fighters and see where I’m coming from. You have a knack for leading. Of making people believe in themselves at their lowest."

He made it a point to stop. Stare.

Levi bit his tongue, meeting his friend's stern gaze.

"Conventional or not, you would still be helping people. Even if it’s a job for a month, at least you’ll be putting a hell of a lot of money in your pocket. It's better than waiting for my signal to move on.”

— —

The bastard was always great at a rousing speech.

That night was the night Levi plugged in the damn website and read the job description.

By morning, he had submitted his application for a part-time hotline employee that included an .mp3 file auditioning his voice.

Erwin must have told his boss that he had a life-long friend possibly interested in the position, because by that night?

Levi Ackerman had a job.

A night turned into a month.

A month turned into six.

Six to a year.

Suddenly denying begging, pleading people from their chased orgasms became as second nature as completing an Excel sheet.

Yet nothing else changed.

Levi still kept to himself.

Considering the friend group worked odd hours — Erwin with his own clientele, Moblit working towards his Masters, and Hange testing the scientific project of the week at the same university when unsupervised — it was easy to.

Wake up. Work out. Eat. Run errands. Clock in for work. Clock out. Eat. Sleep.

Repeat.

Routine.

Hell, a lot of his life worked like a well-oiled machine until you showed up.

Now his world is slightly spinning off-axis, and he knows:

Without talking to his friends about his (uncharacteristically selfish and) impulsive decision, everything could very well go up in flames.

(Because when it comes to sticking matters of the heart and Levi Ackerman in one room, the former never walks out.)

After a pregnant pause in this three-way stand-off, Hange leans in, pressing both hands onto the tops of their thighs.

“So when you say you’re seeing someone, you mean like… romantically?”

“As opposed to what?” Levi flatly asks.

“Well, seeing someone could mean anything, especially for you,” Hange reasons. Levi’s eyes narrow when Erwin gives that short huff of air through his nose like he’s stifling a laugh. “You could be seeing someone about finally fixing your dryer.”

“Seriously?”

“I’m just saying, romantically isn’t the first idea that comes to mind!”

“I have to agree with Zoe,” Erwin finally states, shifting his blue eyes to Levi’s. “You never mentioned that you had met someone in our group chat, and you haven’t made any changes in your schedule that suggest otherwise.”

Levi can’t help but scoff.

“Oh, so now you’re following Hange’s goddamn Google calendar?”

That fucking calendar.

The ‘we’re so busy but we can’t lose touch just because the gym went under’ calendar hastily made at two in the morning and sent with a declaration of war if no one accepted the invite.

All four of them did.

(Then again, Moblit didn’t have much of a choice.)

“I check on occasion,” is Erwin’s short rebuttal, before sitting up straighter. “But the former argument stands: you didn’t tell us that you were dabbling in the dating scene.”

“Wouldn’t really call it dabbling, Erwin,” Levi huffs, picking up his tea cup by clawing the rim of the ceramic. “Shit just kind of happened.”

“Uh-uh,” Hange interrupts. “We’re not playing coy right now, Levi. I want details: name, height—”

“Occupation,” Erwin agrees.

“Where they’re from.”

“If they have siblings.”

“Do they live near here?”

“If they’re allergic to cats.”

An involuntary grimace passes over Levi’s face.

“Ooh! We also need to know if they like tennis,” Hange adds excitedly. “Don’t trust someone who likes tennis, spectator or player. They’re always too put together with an underlying layer of batshit crazy.”

Erwin halts mid-sip of his tea.

“...I like tennis.”

Hange’s thumb and middle finger sharply snap. “Exactly.”

Enough.

Levi hastily pushes his black fringe out of his eyes with his free hand. “I— No, Jesus, can we stop speculating about her?”

“Why?” Erwin challenges.

“Because I told you what you needed to know,” Levi challenges without tripping over his words. “And I’d prefer to keep the rest of myself.”

“Ah, her.”

When he turns his attention to Hange, there’s a wicked glimmer in their eye.

Well, fuck him.

Too much has already been said.

Hange whistles low.

“So how recently was this fair maiden introduced into thy friend’s life?”

“Don’t start talking like a freak, Four Eyes,” he warns them while they suppress a cackle between pressed lips. “And — fuck, fine. If no one is going to let it go—”

“We aren’t.”'

Erwin interrupts, making it two against one.

With a set glare at his blonde friend, the smaller man sinks further into his chair and sighs with reluctant resolve.

“I… met her a few days ago. It...”

Trailing off, he sets his tea cup down to rub at his temples with one hand.

This is going to bring on a headache.

He really doesn’t need it on a work night.

“You’re both going to have an opinion on the how, and trust me, so do I.”

Hange’s face screws up in confusion, but he sees it out of the corner of his eye.

Erwin grows still. Contemplative.

Yeah, he knew this was going to go terribly.

“Huh?” Hange whips their ponytail back and forth to look between both men, smacking themself on the sides of their face. “Why wouldn’t we approve of how? Is it one of the old fighters?”

Levi scoffs, dropping to sit back in his chair. “I’d rather choke.”

“Then I’m not following. You don’t even talk to cashiers at the grocery store.”

“When did she call the hotline?” Erwin asks, cutting straight through the bush instead of beating around it.

His stare is almost indiscernible. Stern.

(Protective.)

The lightbulb clicks. Hange finally settles their attention on him.

“Whoa — wait, she’s a…”

“Former client,” Levi confesses after Hange trails off. “Emphasis on the former part.”

The room grows silent.

Levi doesn’t have the capacity to see Hange’s true reaction, because he’s keeping eye contact with Erwin.

Their own telepathic argument bounces back and forth like that very proverbial tennis ball Hange had so teasingly laid down.

The ethics of it all;

The logistics of what it could mean for the future;

The gravity of this choice and knowing its weight is crushing him.

Erwin’s gaze softens a fraction.

Levi’s shoulders relax, if only a little.

“And how did that opportunity come to pass?” the taller blonde finally asks, but it isn’t as harsh as Levi anticipated.

Hell, it’s curious.

Willing — to not judge; to hear him out.

“Accidentally stumbled into her at the bar down the street,” Levi confesses.

Stumbled is an understatement.

— —

“So then — what does this mean?”

He doesn’t know.

God, he has no fucking clue.

Just like he had no fucking clue you’d be at this bar tonight; that you not only lived in the area, but in the same goddamn building just a few floors south.

You were meant to be a fluke thing.

A moment of weakness.

An anomaly he could solve like every other problem in his life, one he could reason to death and move on from once you realized that this hotline is a slippery slope to financial debt.

At the end of the day, it wasn’t meant to be real.

The calls, the laughter, the exchange of stories felt real, but that’s the selling point.

Imagining idealism.

He could send as many discounted invoices as he could to management to ease the cost of your calls, but there was only so much he could do from his position.

Still—

That being said, he wanted this.

For the first time in a long time, he wanted something.

Ever since Erwin’s gym went under and the staff were forced to find something else in the interim, Levi Ackerman turned off his emotions. His passion.

Money was tight.

Bills were bills.

But there are worse things to do than apply to a remote-working sex hotline with the promise of flexible hours, medical insurance, and the opportunity to get away from people for a while.

Maybe he hadn’t realized he was simply going through the motions of buying a morning tea at the coffee shop down the street.

Maybe he hadn’t noticed that his drive to push himself to the brink of exhaustion at the gym all but disappeared.

Maybe he existed to simply exist.

Then you called.

Petra had pinged him to let him know that there was someone looking for a deep voice — not surprising — with a tendency to overtalk and overthink.

Easy.

Those types always cave the second you call them a pet name or sprinkle a little praise.

Yet you burst into his life like a damn firework to the face and he’s never recovered since.

Being nervous is a staple on these calls. He’s heard every justification in the book just as he’s witnessed people use the hotline like they’re robots.

You wanted to talk.

Petra doesn’t send people to him if they want to talk.

(Did she know, somehow, that he needed this?)

Conspiracies aside, the last two weeks became some of the best of his life.

Now you knew his face, and he knew yours.

And Christ, you were beautiful.

Your voice was one thing — like a soothing balm to his insomnia — but your face nearly took him right the hell out.

Even in the mirror backsplash of the bar, he couldn’t stop staring. Didn’t want to, not when he finally saw what he wanted right in the palm of his hand.

So he was honest.

Honest about his life, his job, his black hole of an existence — maybe to scare you away so you’d choose better than a guy like him.

That he was the first to break the rules.

That he was sorry, because you weren’t looking for more baggage after a shit breakup with a shithead of a guy.

You didn’t care.

So he decided to rip a page out of his goddamn advice book:

Be selfish.

“Well, if you don’t get too wasted with your friends tonight—”

Autopilot.

Everything is on autopilot when he picks up that damn pen and starts to scribble on a napkin, allowing his nervous system to suckerpunch his logic right out the damn window.

“—and you end up going to the gym tomorrow—”

Bail.

Bail, bail, bail, before you make a damn fool of yourself, Levi Ackerman.

He doesn’t.

He straightens his spine, folds the napkin, and reaches for your hand.

The heat of it almost makes his stomach clench.

If he were bolder, then maybe he’d steal you away from your friends. Keep asking questions to make you talk more. Watch as your eyes light up about your favorite things—

He can’t. Won’t.

You’re with your friends. He’s already taken enough time away from them for you.

“—give me a call.”

Maybe he’s chickenshit for running, but at least there’s a part of him brave enough to leave him his personal cell number in the palm of your hand.

Before you can say anything, he drops some money on the counter to pay for both drinks and a tip and leaves to walk home.

To contemplate.

(Assuming you likely won’t call. He wouldn’t blame you.)

The night air leaves a sobering sting on his cheeks as he steps outside.

It’s considerably quieter than the cramped space of the bar, but cabs bustle in the street.

His pocket vibrates not once but twice.

(So not a text.)

Fishing his phone out, Levi squints at the ‘Unknown Caller’ ID staring up at him.

He swipes right to accept said call, pressing the phone to his ear.

“Hello, Levi Ackerman speaking.”

“Hi, Levi. It’s formerly Scarlet.”

His heart falls out of his ass.

Whipping back around to the tinted windows of the bar, Levi can’t help but look for that now-familiar face.

You’re blocked by an endless sea of conversations and bodies, but he still searches.

“My schedule just opened up,” you tell him from the other side of the line, your voice airy like you hold a secret. “I know it’s a little late for some coffee, but — are you free for some tea now?”

Shit.

Maybe he should be giving the headset for the hotline over to you.

“Depends,” Levi exhales. “Any shop worth a damn is closed at this hour.”

“Shit, you’re right.”

He liked it when you cursed.

Hell, he liked it when you weren’t afraid to be yourself around him the most.

“There’s a pop-up shop about six floors above yours,” Levi reasons with a shrug he assumes you can’t see; autopilot, “if you don’t mind walking a neighbor home.”

— —

“You said that?”

Hange, now at the brink of teetering off of their chair, gawks.

Levi blinks twice, realizing he’s given more of the story than he wanted to.

That they know it’s serious — dead fucking serious for him, actually — and that you’re his neighbor.

Yeah, he didn’t believe it either until you said yes.

“What?” Levi asks. “Something wrong?”

“No, that was just fucking smooth, dude,” Hange whistles low, impressed. “Pop-a-button-and-open-a-window kinda smooth. Holy shit.” They thumb towards Erwin. “You teach him to talk like that!?”

“Self-taught, I’m afraid,” Erwin hums. “Can’t take the credit.”

Hange flops back into their chair unceremoniously. “Jeeeez.”

“Six floors down, then?”

There’s a rare tint of pride in Erwin’s tone, like there’s a joke somewhere in that question he isn’t saying.

Levi immediately narrows his eyes.

“Yeah. She’s been my fuckin’ neighbor all this time, if you can believe that.”

He sure as hell can’t. The fact that you’re six floors away — have been — has kept him up at night.

He could run down there right now and show you off to his friends.

He could leave you home-cooked meals if you’re running behind at your office job.

He could do a lot of things, but—

“Is she requesting you to end your time at Scout Services?” Erwin asks, interrupting his trailing thoughts.

Levi’s stormy eyes meet a contemplative, oceanic stare.

“...no.”

A beat passes.

Despite his trepidation, he explains himself.

“She’s not asking me to quit it. Says she gets it, a job’s a job, but I don’t know how true that’ll be in the long run.”

“And you believe her?”

He knows Erwin’s skepticism isn’t unfounded, but it sets a fire in his belly.

Questioning you, the newfound gravity keeping him grounded on planet earth.

(You're just a stranger to him, too, at the end of the day, but you don't feel like one. Not really.)

“I can’t expect anyone to stay neutral about what the fuck it is we do, Erwin," he reasons diplomatically. "I can say everything on my mind and put it on paper, but I’m sure the doubt will still creep in. Everything’s too new to tell. It won’t be easy, but it…”

He sighs, running his hand once more through his straight-and-narrow black hair.

“I just need you two dumbasses to keep me in check. I can’t—”

Hange frowns, and he hates the sympathetic tone they take when they say his name.

“Levi—”

“Four Eyes,” Levi interrupts stronger yet weaker in resolve, effectively shutting down their protest, “I can’t fuck this up. So don’t let me.”

The air grows thick, like winding vines corrupting the foundation of a tree.

Levi glances between the two of them, nostrils flaring with unspoken difficulty.

Erwin is the first to nod. Wordlessly, but he does.

Hange sighs with conclusion not a second after and nods, too.

“Am I at least allowed to ask one thing?” they chirp, holding out one slender finger to the sky. “Just one teeny, tiny thing — yes or no.”

A part of him really wants to say no.

A part of him really wants to say this conversation is over before he gives them anymore concrete information about you as he navigates these uncharted waters of being a not-so-normal boyfriend to a very-normal-ass person.

He fights.

Fails.

“...fine,” he grumbles. “The fuck’s the question?”

Hange perks up, all too smug.

“Did the pop-up shop six floors up line work?”

The memory blossoms in the back of his skull.

His body warms as if trapped under an electric blanket, heat setting cranked a little too high.

Instinctively his eyes flicker to the front door of his apartment.

Like you’ll burst in at any moment with your work bags and stress and the hope that he’ll have the same soothing balm you’ve gifted him, hands at the ready to fix your problems for you.

He hasn’t wanted much.

He’s never wanted much, but—

Shit, if he doesn’t want to be good to you.

“...something like that.”

Author's Note:

AHHHH HI EVERYONE! WE'RE AT IT AGAIN WITH MODERN!LEVI SHENANIGANS! How are we feeling to be back?

I seriously cannot believe we're here. I've never done a sequel before, but the demand was overwhelming and I couldn't help but agree: we could do with learning what happens after the final call.

And we will, in this seven (maybe more?) part series. I had to actually break up part one because it got way too large of a chapter, so I promise we'll be picking up right where we left off in P4 -- like, quite literally That Fateful Night in part two.

#levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman x you #levi ackerman x female reader #attack on titan fanfiction #snk fanfiction #snk fanfic #aot fanfic #aot fic #snk fic #levi ackerman fanfiction #levi ackerman fanfic #shingeki no kyojin fanfiction #aot fanfiction #shingeki no kyoujin fanfiction #aot x reader #snk x reader #levimonth24

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scary-grace · 4 months ago

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Bloody Valentine - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

When you get to school on Valentine's Day, your biggest worry is how you're going to give chocolate to your lab partner and crush, Shigaraki Tomura, without him knowing that it was you, and when it all goes wrong, you can't imagine how your day could possibly get worse. But when a plague of zombies erupts within the halls of UA High and the evacuation leaves you behind, you find yourself trapped with Shigaraki, both of you left behind. You've been forgotten. There's no help coming. Forget being each other's valentines - now you're each other's only chance to get out of this alive. (cross-posted to Ao3) dividers by @kodaswrld

Chapter 1

You slink through the aisles at the convenience store, blinking sleep out of your eyes and wishing you’d gone to bed earlier last night. You knew what kind of day today was going to be, because it’s the same kind of day you have every day – busy. Rehearsal in the morning, before school starts, team practice as soon as the final bell rings, and in between, the heaviest class schedule it’s possible to take while still reserving at least a few hours to sleep. You should have gone to bed earlier. A lot earlier.

But you didn’t, because you never do, and now you’re here, buying Valentine’s Day chocolate on five hours of sleep. You know you should have made the chocolates by hand, like you did for your friends. It’s something you’re going to have to explain, if the person you’re planning to give the convenience-store chocolate to figures out it’s from you and asks why you cheaped out on him. You’ll have to think of something to say. In the meantime, you pick out the package with the least-ostentatious wrapping and the fewest fruit flavors and make your way to the cash register.

You aren’t the only person in line who waited until the last minute. The woman in front of you is balancing a tower of boxes of the most expensive chocolate the convenience store offers, and the girl behind you in a middle-school uniform is holding a tiny box with an enormous bow on top of it. The cashier’s a woman, too. She doesn’t question the woman ahead of you in line, but when you step up to pay, she looks you up and down with a sly smile on her face. “Who’s this for?”

Your face burns red. You haven’t admitted this out loud to anybody yet, but you have to start somewhere. “My lab partner.”

She chuckles and checks you out, and you wander off to one side, trying to store your loose change and hide the chocolate in your backpack at the same time. You overhear the conversation the cashier has with the middle-schooler. “Sorry. You don’t have quite enough for that one.”

“But it’s the smallest one!” the girl protests. She’s barely old enough to be in middle-school – not more than thirteen. “I looked at the price –”

“Sales tax,” the cashier says. You wince. “Go on. There are people waiting behind you.”

You hear the girl sniffle, and you still haven’t stored your change. You step back up to the counter and slide the coins across it, back to the cashier. “That’s enough, right?”

The cashier nods. You pick up the small box and hand it back to the girl, ushering her outside into a cold, mostly-dark February morning. “Thanks,” she says to you, but her mouth’s still turned down. “He’s my best friend, but all the girls like him – he’s going to get so much and mine’s so small –”

“Write something to go with it,” you suggest. “If you put a note on it it’ll at least look different from the others.”

“Is that what you’re going to do?”

You’re going to stealth-mode the chocolate into his locker and hope he guesses it’s from you – or at least hope that he doesn’t think it’s from somebody else. But you haven’t put much thought into it, and this girl’s best friend is probably a far cry from your lab partner, who’s capable of exuding an aura so grumpy and malevolent that first-years have been known to leave the building to get away from him. “Yeah,” you say, feeling only a little guilty. “Good luck with yours.”

“You, too,” she says. She heads for the metro stop; you store your chocolate away at long last, wrap your scarf a little more tightly around your neck, and start the walk to school.

UA High isn’t for everybody. It’s academically rigorous, to the point where the kids taking remedial classes there could still run circles around the advanced students from any other school, and it’s got so many class and extracurricular offerings that it could almost pass for a university. It’s prestigious to the max, and it’s also really expensive. Students who go there come from rich families, or else they’re on scholarship, their grades and participation reviewed at the end of every term to see if the scholarship will be renewed.

Nobody ever comes out and says which one they are, but it’s pretty easy to tell. Rich kids have class schedules that wouldn’t be out of place at a normal high school. Scholarship kids have schedules like yours. A schedule which begins bright and early at seven am with rehearsal for the school play. This year, it’s Romeo and Juliet, performed pop-opera style – next to no spoken dialogue, almost every piece of dialogue sung. The drama club doesn’t have enough good singers to make it work, so they pressed the choir into service. That’s where you come in. You’re not a good actor or the best singer, but your voice isn’t objectionable and you don’t make a lot of mistakes. That’s enough to earn you a part in the chorus.

And enough to make you an understudy – and the girl who plays Juliet is out sick, which means you’re stuck holding hands with Amajiki Tamaki as the director tries for the billionth time to coax some life into his performance. “Come on, Amajiki! This is a girl you’re holding hands with. The most beautiful girl in the world.”

Amajiki frowns. “I thought Rosalind was the most beautiful girl in the world.”

“That was last week,” Yamada-sensei says. You try not to laugh. “This week it’s all about Juliet, and unlike Rosalind, Juliet likes you. Get hyped! Okay, let’s take it from the top –”

Yaoyorozu starts playing the introductory notes of the song. Amajiki looks directly down at your joined hands and starts singing to them. “If I profane with my unworthiest hand this holy shrine, the gentle sin is this: My lips, two blushing pilgrims ready stand, to smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss –”

He’s on-key, which is a big deal for drama club kids, but just as wooden as ever. Off to one side, you see Yamada-sensei shaking his head. “Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much,” you sing. Your performance is probably at least as wooden as Amajiki’s, but you’re not supposed to be here, anyway. “Which mannerly devotion shows in this; for saints have hands which pilgrims’ hands do touch, and palm to palm is holy palmers’ kiss.”

“Cut,” Yamada-sensei announces. “You’re killing me, Amajiki. Look at her for a second while you’re singing it. Chemistry is all about eye contact.”

“They don’t have chemistry,” Monoma, who plays Tybalt, announces from off to the side. “He and Kenranzaki have chemistry.”

That chemistry is probably the result of Amajiki being terrified of Kenranzaki, just like every other guy at school, but at least some sparks are flying onstage when they’re together. You’re not even sure how Amajiki ended up in the play when he’s got the worst case of stage fright you’ve ever seen. His hands are really sweaty. “Pretend it’s not me,” you suggest. “Pretend I’m the person you like, if you like anybody.”

“There’s an idea,” Yamada-sensei says. Amajiki’s face turns bright red. “Ooh, there it is! We’ve got something. Let’s move.”

“You have to do it too,” Amajiki says to you. “Pretend I’m someone you like. If you like anybody.”

“Fine,” you say. If Amajiki gets a good run-through, you get to go wash your hands. The piano playing starts, and you give it your best shot.

Your plan was to picture an actor, somebody cute but distant, but instead your lab partner pops into your head. Your face goes instantly flushed, probably even more obviously than Amajiki’s, because if you confessed your feelings to Shigaraki Tomura by singing them, he’d laugh you out of the school. If he were the one standing across from you right now, you’d be cringing in despair, knowing for a fact you’d already blown your chances, trying to enjoy the few seconds of holding his hands you got before he yanked them away. You definitely wouldn’t feel like singing about it.

Still, you get through your first lines, and manage to hold Amajiki’s gaze during his response. Saints and palmers have lips, et cetera – and then it’s your turn. “Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer –”

“O then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do,” Amajiki says. His eye contact is a little too direct, a lot too earnest. Now you’re really uncomfortable. “They pray: grant thou, lest faith turn to despair.”

“Okay, that’s good enough for now. We don’t want Romeo to faint,” Yamada-sensei says. “That was a lot better, Amajiki. I could tell you were feeling – something. Go get some water. And you –”

He points at you. You cringe. “Stay put,” Yamada-san instructs. “Count Paris, you’re up. We’ve got some back and forth we need to run.”

Tetsutetsu, the first-year who plays Paris, hops up from his seat and comes to stand on the makeshift stage. All you can do is hope his hands aren’t too sweaty.

You stagger out of the rehearsal space at eight-thirty, desperate for a place to wash your hands, and Nejire, who was waiting for you outside, follows you into the bathroom. “I got a Snapchat,” she sings out, brandishing her phone while you run water over your hands. “You and Amajiki sound so good!”

Your heart sinks. “Somebody filmed it?”

“Just on Snapchat! It’s not a story or anything,” Nejire says. “Amajiki’s so cute when he’s blushing!”

“He looks like he wants to die,” you mumble. “How did he end up in the play, anyway?”

“He failed English last term.” Nejire lowers her voice. Amajiki’s a scholarship student, just like you, and you know what failing a class means. “Yamada-sensei convinced the principal not to kick him out as long as he made it up somehow, and since he can sing, being in the play is the best way.”

If it came down to being kicked out of UA or doing some extracurricular activity you really hated, you’d pick the latter without blinking. Nejire replays the Snapchat again while you dry your hands. “How come you were up there? I thought Kenranzaki was the lead?”

“She is,” you say. “She wasn’t here this morning. It was weird – she never misses rehearsals, and she didn’t even text.”

“People were missing from dance practice, too,” Nejire says, frowning. “Kodai and Hagakure didn’t text, either.”

“Maybe something’s going around,” you say. Whatever it is, you hope you don’t get it. You have too much to do. You dry your hands and straighten up. “Come on. I brought you chocolate and I don’t want to give it to you in the bathroom.”

Nejire has chocolate for you, too. She bought chocolate rather than made it, and because she’s not on scholarship, she can afford the really good stuff. You feel awkward handing over your homemade chocolates, but Nejire exclaims over them anyway. You know she’s sincere, because she can’t fake anything for more than a few seconds. “I bet we’re giving them to all the same people,” she says, beaming. “We still have a few minutes. Let’s go hand them out together!”

Your homemade chocolates look like nothing compared to Nejire’s expensive ones, but you’re not friends with your friends for no reason. They compliment Nejire’s generosity and your hard work, and hand chocolate back to you with enthusiasm. You manage to pass your chocolates out to three of your friends before homeroom – Keiko, Saki, and Hinata, girls you’ve known since your first day. The rest you’ll have to get on the run.

Other than homeroom, most of UA High’s classes are sorted by ability rather than by year, which means you’ve had the chance to make friends with second-years and first-years, too. Kyoka is a first-year, but she stands next to you in first-period chorus, so you’ve talked to her almost every day since the start of the year. She gets a box of chocolates. So does Camie in second period advanced calculus, even though she thinks you’re sort of boring and you think she’s kind of an airhead. You helped each other study for your final exams last term. You owe her.

You don’t sit next to any of your friends in third-period English class, but someone in that class is on the climbing team with you. You aren’t close enough to give him chocolate, but you’re friendly enough to say good morning. Spinner returns your greeting, but he’s looking apprehensively at your gear bag. “Wait, were we top-roping today? I forgot all my shit.”

“Coach will probably change it to bouldering if you ask her,” you say. Spinner’s the best climber on the team by a mile, but he’s not the most motivated, and Coach Usagiyama will do just about anything to keep him interested. “If not, I’ve got a spare harness in here.”

“Thanks.” Spinner breathes a sigh of relief. Or yawns. “If it wasn’t movie day in here I’d be screwed. I need a nap.”

“Same,” you admit. “Do you know which –”

“Ladies and those of you who are not ladies, take your seats!” Yamada-sensei booms as he slams the door of the classroom shut behind him, and you scurry back to your seat. Yamada-sensei skids in for a landing in front of the blackboard and switches to English. “I only have one question for you this fine movie day – rom-com or action?”

You vote action, and so does Spinner, but it’s Valentine’s Day and advanced English is mostly girls, so of course you lose. As the vote’s happening, though, you realize just how many people are missing from class today. Kenranzaki from the drama club, two people from Nejire’s dance team, and at least three from English class. Something must be going around. As the bell rings to signal the end of the class period, a terrible thought occurs to you. So many people are absent. What if Shigaraki’s absent, too?

Spinner would know. They’re friends. You stop by his desk as he’s waking up from his nap. “Hey,” you start, “do you know if Shigaraki’s here today? We’re starting a new experiment in chem lab, and –”

“He’s here. I saw him this morning,” Spinner says. “He’s probably going to be late, though. He’s late to everything.”

That gives you time to drop the chocolate on his desk, if you hurry. The thought makes you nervous. Spinner notices. “Hey, don’t worry. I’ll text him and tell him to hurry up.”

“No, don’t –” you start, but Spinner’s already got his phone out. You’re running out of time. You mumble an insincere thank-you to Spinner and book it to the lab, trying not to think about how Shigaraki will respond to the idea of you – you, through Spinner – bossing him around.

You get to chem lab first, ahead of everyone – all your classmates and Sasaki-sensei, too. You tuck your belongings under the bench you share with Shigaraki, pull the chocolate out of your backpack, and set it down on his side of the bench. Done. Your heart is racing, and he’s not even here yet – and once he does, he won’t even know it’s from you. Your high school experience hasn’t been a dream by any means, but this might just be the worst thing that’s ever happened to you.

It would be different if you had a crush on a nice guy, but Shigaraki Tomura isn’t a nice guy. He’s older than you, courtesy of being held back a year sometime in middle school, and while he has friends, every last one of them except Spinner has a reputation just like his. When you were paired up with him for chem lab at the beginning of the year, most people felt sorry for you, and they said so. But you were determined to make the best of it, not to get off on the wrong foot, and so you were friendly. It took two months for him to start being friendly back. For a given value of friendly.

He makes fun of you for being such an overachiever, such a perfectionist – but never for being here on scholarship. The first time he complimented you, it was vague and almost backhanded, but it had your heart racing for the rest of the period. When you finally swapped phone numbers, it took you three days to work up the courage to text him first. Sometimes Shigaraki leaves you hanging, but if you catch him at the right moment – usually at night, when both of you should be sleeping – you can draw him into a conversation. And he’s different than anybody else you know.

You know you’re a cliché, the stereotype of a good girl with a crush on the dictionary definition of a bad guy. But you don’t think that’s why you like him. You just – like him. And you remember something he said a while ago, when the two of you were complaining about couples hanging out in the hallways and blocking you from getting your shoes back, and he mentioned something about Valentine’s Day being even worse – everybody and their cat gets chocolate, and I just have to look at it. You read between the lines. The idea of bringing him chocolate was in your head way before you admitted you had a crush.

Your classmates trickle into the lab slowly, and once again, you register that there aren’t as many as usual. More than a few benches have an empty seat at one side, but Sasaki-sensei arrives thirty seconds before the bell rings, as usual, and starts taking attendance before the final notes ring out. He has the strictest attendance policy in school, and you watch the door anxiously out of the corner of your eye as you organize your pre-work for today’s lab. Acid-base titration. It should be an easy experiment to run, but not if you’re running it alone.

But you won’t be. A shadow darkens the doorway, then falls across your bench, and Shigaraki Tomura drops down in his seat next to you just as Sasaki-sensei calls his name. He doesn’t hear Sasaki-sensei, though – he has headphones in. You elbow him and he yanks them out, just in time for Sasaki-sensei to repeat himself. “Shigaraki Tomura?”

Shigaraki half-heartedly raises one hand, then lets it drop. Sasaki-sensei addresses the class, all business. “I see multiple absences today. If your partner is missing, pair up with someone whose partner is also missing. As usual, you will not be allowed to begin the experiment until I confirm the completion of your prework, and if you run out of time to complete the lab, you will receive no credit for the day.”

The familiar anxious shooting pains lance through your fingers. You can be as prepared as it’s possible to be, and Sasaki-sensei’s reminder of just how willing he is to fail you always scares you. Next to you, Shigaraki pulls a few crumpled pieces of paper out of his backpack, muttering under his breath. “Half the school’s out sick. He can’t cut us a break?”

You move your papers alongside Shigaraki’s, sorting them to make it easier for Sasaki-sensei to see that you’re both done, and take a risk. “I’m glad you made it.”

“Yeah, I figured. Spinner texted me,” Shigaraki says. You cringe. “This lab’s so scary you can’t do it alone?”

“I could do it alone,” you say, stung. It’s the kind of thing he usually says with a teasing note in his voice, but instead he’s strangely flat. He’s not looking at you. “It’s just weird, with so many people out. Did all your friends make it in today?”

“Everybody but Twice,” Shigaraki says. “He can’t shut up when he’s sick, usually – we all get a newsflash every time his body does something disgusting – but this time he hasn’t said a word.”

Kenranzaki didn’t, either. Neither did the girls who were missing from dance team practice. Shigaraki glances at you. “Is that really all it takes to spook you?”

“I didn’t say I was scared. Just that it’s weird,” you say. He’s in a mood today. Is it really just that it’s Valentine’s Day? “Are you feeling okay?”

“Why would you ask that?”

“Because you seem – different – this morning,” you say, stumbling over the words. You thought the two of you were past this. What did you do? “I just wanted to ask. In case there was something –”

“Something you could do?” Shigaraki finishes your sentence. He scoffs. “Nice try. I know what –”

“I certainly hope you do.” Sasaki-sensei looms over the two of you, scooping your prework off the desk. “Shigaraki, your handwriting continues to be atrocious. And you – how many times do I have to ask you to stop writing in 10-pt font? You’re going to strain my eyes.”

“You need better glasses, then, Sensei,” Shigaraki says, almost sneering. That sounds more like him. You can almost fool yourself into thinking he’s defending you. “Our handwriting doesn’t matter. Are we right or wrong?”

Sasaki-sensei glances over your work again. “If I docked points for illegibility, you’d both be on the verge of failing. But your calculations are sound. You may begin.”

You’d be more relieved if Shigaraki wasn’t acting so weird. The two of you start setting out your equipment. “I just wanted to know,” you start, “because I –”

“Shut up,” Shigaraki snaps. You startle. “What the fuck is this?”

It’s the box of chocolates you bought. He scoops it off the desk and brandishes it at you. “This was you, wasn’t it? What is wrong with you?”

“Who said it was me?” You don’t know how to cover up your shock, so you return fire instead. “Whoever it was –”

“I know it was you,” Shigaraki cuts you off.

“How?”

“Because it’s on my desk in fucking chem lab and you’re the only girl in here who talks to me,” Shigaraki says. He drops the box back on the table and shoves it towards you. “Unless you’re going to pretend I’ve got some kind of secret admirer –”

“Maybe you do!” Your voice starts to scale up, and you clench your jaw. You shove the box back across the table towards him. “It could be anybody who left that there. Why are you mad at me?”

“Because it wasn’t anybody. It was you!” An angry flush is crawling from beneath Shigaraki’s collar. He picks up the box of chocolates and drops it on your notebook. “Take this back or I’m throwing it away.”

“Somebody decided to show they like you and you’re throwing it away?” You’re shocked by the acidic note in your own voice, even as you make up your mind to never admit that you were the one who put it there. “You can be mad at me all you want, but you shouldn’t punish them for what you –”

“That’s enough, Station 11,” Sasaki-sensei snaps, from up near the front of the classroom where he’s correcting Yoarashi’s and Togata’s prework. “Focus on your experiment and stop distracting the others.”

This is the wrong class to try to fight with somebody in. You set the box of chocolates down exactly equidistant from you and Shigaraki and start testing the scale you’re supposed to use to weigh your reactants. Sometimes Sasaki-sensei calibrates them wrong on purpose just to throw people off. Next to you, Shigaraki’s sitting still in his seat, visibly seething. His face is still flushed, and when he opens his mouth, it’s to come after you again. “Fuck off with this ‘somebody else’ bullshit,” he says – quieter than before, but not by much. “I know damn well it wasn’t Toga, so that leaves you. You’re the only –”

He breaks off, curses, but you can fill in the rest of the sentence. You and Toga are the only girls he talks to. “And I guess you think this is funny or something, because –”

“Why would I think this is funny?” you hiss.

“Like I’d know. Like I’d ever know what the fuck is going on in your head! I thought –” Shigaraki breaks off again, this time without the cursing, and the look he turns on you is so disdainful that you can barely keep your composure. “You really can act, huh. That nice-girl thing you’ve been putting on since school started. You almost had me fooled.”

Your temper breaks free. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“You expect me to believe you’re stupid now?” Shigaraki laughs, so cold and derisive that your eyes sting. “I’m not falling for that one. I’m done almost falling for –”

“Is it really that hard for you to believe that someone might want to be around you?” As much venom as there is in Shigaraki’s voice, you can match it. He might think you’re a nice girl, but you wouldn’t have survived almost three years as a scholarship student at UA if you weren’t tough enough to hold your own with anybody. “I have to tell you, it’s hard for me to believe right now. If this is how you react to some stranger who cares, anybody who wants to be around you must be out of their mind.”

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck you,” you fire back. “Hate yourself as much as you want. I’m not just going to sit here –”

“No, you aren’t.” Sasaki-sensei looms over you, and your heart sinks so far and fast that you feel nauseous. He looks pissed, as pissed as you’ve ever seen him, his eyes narrowed and his arms crossed over his chest. “I warned the two of you once. Not only did you fail to save your lover’s spat until after class, you were both made aware of my policy on profanity at the beginning of the year, and the first-years across the hall could hear the two of you swearing.”

“Sensei –”

“Manners,” Sasaki-sensei snaps, and you fall silent. “To the principal’s office, both of you. And take your belongings. You won’t be coming back here today.”

He’s kicking you out. He won’t let you finish the lab, and if you completely miss a lab, your chemistry grade will plummet. Shigaraki might not care about his grades, but if your grades drop, you’ll be thrown out of UA with a semester left in your third year. “It wasn’t me,” you protest. “Shigaraki started it!”

“Based on what I heard, you were a willing participant,” Sasaki-sensei says. He throws Shigaraki a dirty look, but the vast majority of his disdain is reserved for you. “I expected better of you, at least. Get out.”

Shigaraki’s already packed up his things. He shoves his chair back and it lets out an awful screech as it skids across the tiles, but you’re frozen in your seat. Your heart is racing, and your eyes are starting to prickle and burn. No matter what you do, it feels like the wrong choice – refuse to leave, blame Shigaraki for starting this again, try to make your case? Sasaki-sensei drums his fingers against his forearm, waiting for you, and when you don’t move, he barks at you. “Now.”

Someone giggles, and the sound snaps you out of your paralysis. You whip around to find two of the first-years in third-year chemistry snickering behind their hands – Kaminari and Ashido, who get in trouble for talking every other class, whose grades are worse than yours, who are here on their parents’ money instead of on scholarship. You’re not going to stand here and let a bunch of rich brats laugh at you. You stand up, jam your things back into your backpack, grab the gym bag with your climbing gear, and storm past Shigaraki out the door.

You held it together in class, but now that you’re out in the middle of an empty hall, you’re losing the fight against your tears. At least you are until you hear Shigaraki’s footsteps in the hallway behind you. This is his fault. There’s no way you’re going to let him know how upset you are. You pick up the pace down the hall, then up the stairs, heading for the administrative offices on the second of the school’s five floors.

Shigaraki catches up to you on the stairs. He says something, but you deliberately shift your gear bag, drowning him out with the clatter that results. Then you pick up your pace again. Shigaraki’s legs are longer than yours. He catches up and repeats what he must have said earlier. “Are you happy now?”

You were right to drown him out. You reach the administrative offices ahead of him, but as you reach for the door, it bursts open outwards. Principal Nezu nearly collides with you, and you stammer an apology. It’s as if you’re not even there. Shigaraki, on the other hand, nets a remark from the principal. “If I find out that you’re involved in this, Shigaraki –”

“Involved in what? I got sent here from chem lab.”

“If I find out you’re involved, I’ll personally ensure that you’re sent to prison,” Principal Nezu snaps, and you can’t hold in a shocked gasp. Principal Nezu’s radio crackles, and he raises it to his mouth. “Yes. I’m on my way. Do nothing until I arrive.”

He motors off down the hall, walking even faster than you were. Shigaraki steps past you into the admin offices, and the door closes in your face. You stand there for a moment, stunned. You don’t know what’s going on, what incident Principal Nezu’s referring to, but you can’t imagine what would make the principal say something like that to Shigaraki. You know Shigaraki was in trouble in middle school. Based on the few things he’s said about what it’s like for him at home, you know it isn’t good. And you know that since he started at UA, Shigaraki’s been sent to see the principal for showing up late, for falling asleep in class, for mouthing off to teachers, for throwing a punch after someone else punched him first – but he hasn’t done anything that the other school troublemakers haven’t done, too. You can’t imagine Principal Nezu threatening to send any of them to prison.

It strikes you as really harsh. Almost mean, since whatever incident is going on started while you and Shigaraki were arguing in chem class. But as awful as what the principal said to Shigaraki was, there might be a silver lining for you. If Principal Nezu hates Shigaraki that much, it won’t be hard to convince him that what happened in chem lab was all Shigaraki’s fault.

You feel awful for even thinking it. You open the door to the admin offices and step inside, addressing the first secretary you see. There are twelve of them – with everything that’s going on at UA, Principal Nezu needs all the help he can get. “Sasaki-sensei sent me here to see the principal.”

“Principal Nezu just left,” Secretary Kurose says shortly. She’s always been nice to you before now. “He’ll see you when he gets back. Wait in his office. Shigaraki’s already there.”

He’s probably waiting for you to come in so he can start the fight back up again. You wonder what he said to Secretary Kurose to put that tense, frustrated look on her face. It can’t just be because of you, can it? “I saw the principal leaving. Is something going on?”

“Wait in his office,” Secretary Kurose says. The phone rings and she picks it up, shooing you away. You walk slowly, dejectedly. Partly because you’re hurt by how she talked to you. And partly so you can hear what she says as she picks up the phone. “Yes, the principal is on-scene. The other faculty have Chisaki restrained.”

Chisaki’s one of the biology teachers – anatomy, specifically, and he’s the youngest one on staff. The weirdest, too. They have him restrained? You step into the principal’s office and shut the door behind you, so lost in thought about whatever’s going on down in the anatomy lab that you almost forget what you’re doing here.

But you can’t forget for long. Shigaraki’s sitting in Principal Nezu’s chair, feet propped up on the principal’s desk. He leans to one side to peer at you, half a smirk on his dry, scarred lips. “Come here often?”

You grit your teeth. “Never.”

“It’s your first time. I bet he’ll be gentle with you.” Shigaraki’s smirk sharpens. He leans further back in the chair. “I had to lower this thing about two feet to be able to sit in it. Do you think Nezu hates everybody who’s taller than him?”

You sit down in one of the chairs you think students are probably supposed to sit in and drop your bags by your feet. Your phone buzzes from inside your backpack, and you extract it to find a text from Nejire. What happened??? I heard something went down in lab

I’m in the principal’s office :( you text back, and that’s when it really hits you.

You’re in the principal’s office because you got kicked out of class, because you were fighting with your lab partner, because you gave him chocolate, because you have a crush on him and it’s Valentine’s Day. You might lose your scholarship. You got rejected by the person you like in the worst way possible. And now you’re stuck in here with him until the principal gets back from dealing with whatever the anatomy teacher did. This might be the worst day of school you’ve ever had.

Nejire texts back – ten texts in a row – and you ignore them. Behind the desk, Shigaraki looks up. “You get service in here? I thought this place was dead.”

“I’m on the school’s WiFi,” you say. “Third-years get the password.”

“I don’t have the password,” Shigaraki says. You struggle not to roll your eyes. “I guess it’s only for teacher’s pets.”

“If not wanting to be in trouble all the time makes me a teacher’s pet, fine. I’m a teacher’s pet,” you say. Shigaraki scoffs, and your desire to burst into tears temporarily converts to anger. Anger makes you mean. “You know, you’re a way better actor than me. You did such a good job pretending not to be exactly what everybody said you are that I actually fell for it.”

You’re expecting him to return fire right away. You’ve left him an opening to call you stupid for believing any better of him, and any second now he’s going to jump on it. But Shigaraki stays silent, and without something to react against, your anger starts to fizzle out. All that’s left is hurt and confusion. “I thought we were friends.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Shigaraki says. “Except my friends are a bunch of assholes just like me, and none of them would pull the kind of stunt you did.”

“It wasn’t me,” you say.

Shigaraki’s jaw clenches. “I know it was you,” he says. “Why are you lying about it?”

“It wasn’t me.” You’re never going to admit it to him. You’re going to put this somewhere so far in the back of your mind that you’ll forget it ever happened, and every time you feel that pull towards Shigaraki, those butterflies, you’re going to remind yourself how you feel right now. “Why won’t you stop? You’ve already gotten me kicked out. Isn’t that enough?”

“Kicked out?” Shigaraki laughs at that. “I get sent here three times a week. They haven’t kicked me out yet.”

“You’re not on scholarship,” you say. Despair settles heavily over you. “I’m in the principal’s office and my chemistry grade is ruined – and they can kick me out for breathing wrong. Whatever you think I did, haven’t I paid for it?”

“They’re not kicking you out.” Shigaraki’s not laughing anymore. He takes his feet down off the desk and sits up in Principal Nezu��s chair. “When he gets back, you’re going to tell him I started it –”

“You did start it.”

“Yeah, and I’m gonna cop to it,” Shigaraki says. You blink. “It’ll be my fault, I’ll get detention again, and your record won’t get messed up. They’re not kicking you out.”

“Why do you care if I get kicked out?” you ask. “Do you need a lab partner that bad?”

Shigaraki’s jaw clenches. “No,” he says. “It’ll just be a pain to have to break a new one in.”

That’s what you’d thought he’d say, or something like it. Maybe this morning you’d have thought he cared, but by now you know a lot better. You slump down in your chair, cross your arms over your chest, and wait for the principal to get back.

Fourth period ends without Principal Nezu coming back, which means you and Shigaraki are now missing lunch. School lunches are expensive. You packed your own, like always, and you dig it out of your backpack and open it. Shigaraki takes his feet down off the desk and sits up. “You brought food?”

“Yep.”

“I want some.”

“You’ve got to be kidding,” you say. Shigaraki stares back at you, unrepentant. “I’m not giving you my food.”

“I didn’t say I wanted all of it. I said some of it,” Shigaraki corrects, like an asshole. “Share. Unless you’re done pretending to be nice?”

“Maybe I am, since you’re done pretending not to be a bully –”

“A bully?”

“You’re trying to steal my lunch.” You put it back into your backpack. Maybe he’ll leave you alone about it now. “Most guys give that up by seventh grade.”

“Yeah, well, I was in juvie in seventh grade, so –” Shigaraki breaks off suddenly, then glares at you. “Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything,” you say – and then, from somewhere at the edge of your hearing, a sound hits your ears that’s got no business being in a school. “Did you hear that?”

“What? I didn’t –” Shigaraki’s head snaps up. “I heard that.”

So did you. Two screams, from two different people, and a moment later, there’s a third. A chill goes down your spine, and you hold still with an effort, even when the fourth scream rings out. “People don’t scream like that when they’re just screwing around.”

“No,” Shigaraki says. More screams. They’re getting closer. He gets to his feet. “Get out of the way.”

“What?”

Shigaraki doesn’t answer. He kicks Principal Nezu’s chair out of the way, knocks everything on the desk onto the floor, and starts shoving at the desk, to absolutely no effect. It’s so bizarre that it takes another scream to snap you back to awareness. “What are you doing?”

“Blocking the door.” Shigaraki’s voice is strained. “Whatever’s making people scream like that, I don’t want it in here.”

What could it even be? A school shooter, like they have in America? You’d have heard gunshots. Maybe it’s a crazy person with a knife running through the halls, or a rabid animal, or something. Now there are so many people screaming that you can’t distinguish anything about the voices – male or female, young or old, victim or perpetrator. Whatever it is, Shigaraki’s right. You don’t want it here either. You leave your backpack off to one side and join Shigaraki behind the desk, giving it an experimental push. Sure, it’s heavy. You can see why Shigaraki’s having trouble. You square up, plant your feet, and shove.

The desk skids forward, and you keep pushing. Shigaraki’s not doing anything to help, even though it was his idea, and when you turn to look, you find him staring at you. “Are you on steroids or something?”

“No, I’m on the climbing team. We have to work out.” You shove the desk again, thankful for the fact that Coach Usagiyama makes you and the rest of the team cross-train at least twice a week. “Are you going to help? It’ll be faster with two.”

At first Shigaraki just stares at you, but the screams are so close now, close enough that your ears hurt, and blocking the door was his idea. Shigaraki lines up next to you and starts pushing the desk, and together the two of you wedge it against the door. Almost as soon as you’ve pushed it into place, something thuds against it from the other side. You recoil backwards, but Shigaraki throws his weight against the desk, keeping it firmly shut. “Let me in,” Secretary Kurose pleads. “They’re coming!”

Who’s they? It doesn’t matter, not when she needs help. You grab the desk and pull back, only to catch Shigaraki’s arm squarely across your chest, hard enough that you’ll have bruises. “No,” he snaps at you. “Nobody gets in.”

“She needs help!”

“You think she’d help us? No.” The door handle is rattling, and Shigaraki shoves the desk against the door again. “She can run.”

“Please,” Secretary Kurose wails. “They’re –”

Her voice breaks into a high, wavering scream, and the door shivers on its frame as at least three people collide with it. Secretary Kurose’s scream reaches a new pitch, one that makes Shigaraki flinch and makes you jam your fingers in your ears to drown it out. But some part of you knows there’s no drowning this out. Not the scream that hitches and splits. Not the low growls and wet, meaty sounds of flesh being torn away. Not the rattling breaths that go suddenly, horribly silent.

You can’t see anything that’s happening, but some part of you knows exactly what you’re listening to. Those are the sounds of a person being eaten alive, and before you can even think, you’re throwing your weight against the desk just like Shigaraki is, desperate to keep whatever’s out there from getting in.

#shigaraki tomura x reader #tomura shigaraki x reader #shigaraki tomura x you #tomura shigaraki x you #shigaraki x reader #shigaraki x you #x reader #reader insert #bloody valentine au #man door hand hook car door #a bisquared production

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leighsartworks216 · 8 months ago

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Rises The Moon

Zayne x gn!Reader

Dedicating this to @deusfoundry for providing the catalyst it took to finish this rn

Warnings: fluff, kissing, cuddling, workaholic Zayne, established relationship

Word Count: 1,206

Main Masterlist

Love and Deepspace Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

The moon is almost at its zenith in the inky sky. Even with the city lights mimicking beacons in the darkness, stars glimmer and gleam down on the world below.

You’ve been dozing in and out of sleep for the last couple hours. As warm and soft and comfortable as the bed is, you can’t fall much deeper than that surface-level snooze. The apartment always feels hollow with Zayne gone. The bed is too cold, even when you’re wrapped up in your conserved heat. Exhaustion weighs you down, but sleep never fully claims you. Not while he’s away.

Maybe it’s because you didn’t get the chance to see him this morning. Something had pulled him from your arms and to the hospital on short notice, before the sun had even graced the horizon. So now you ached for him, longed for him to be here with you again. Or maybe it feels like this all the time, regardless of if he leaves before dawn or if you spend all day with him.

You’re on the precipice of a dreamscape when you’re awoken again. This time, it’s because of a cool hand brushing your hair back and soft lips kissing your forehead. You turn into his affection, refusing to open your eyes as you bask in the warm embrace of his return. His quiet chuckle is like melatonin.

His hand slips from your head. The sound of his house slippers against the floor follow him as he leaves the bedroom. You sigh and nuzzle your pillow, waiting for him to come back and cuddle you.

But he doesn’t.

Now that you know he’s home and definitively not beside you in bed, sleep evades you even stronger than before. He’s home, he should be here.

With a Herculean effort, you unwrap yourself from the warm blankets and slide on your own slippers. You open the closet to grab the first sweater or hoodie you can find, one of his, and throw it on to preserve whatever heat you have left. Then, you go to find him.

It doesn’t take very long.

He’s sitting on the couch, laptop resting on his thighs as he types away. The blue glow is too harsh, even with the brightness as low as it is. You can see it gleaming on his glasses at this angle. That damn man never knows how to slip out of work mode.

You shuffle behind him and wrap your arms around his shoulders, hands resting lazily over his heart. He doesn’t startle; he must have heard you coming.

“You’re gonna be up all night if you keep working right now, dear heart,” you murmur against his shoulder. Practically all your weight is pressed against his back as you lean further into him. He can feel your fingers starting to loosen his tie.

He turns his head to press a kiss to your hair. His cool fingers hold yours, stopping their movements with little effort. “Soon, my love, I promise.”

You’re not buying that for a second. You huff, turn your face into his neck, and begin leaving chaste kisses along his skin. “Liar.”

“If I can work in peace,” he begins pointedly, “it will be done in an hour.”

“That’s too long,” you whine. You don’t care how pathetic and childish you sound. He’s been working all day, plus overtime. You didn’t even get your good morning kiss! And now he’s gonna leave you to sleep alone just so he can do more work? Nuh-uh. Not on your watch. “You can finish it tomorrow.”

He chuckles. “Can’t you survive an hour more without me?”

“No.” You playfully nip at his earlobe. “Your spouse is exhausted, and the only cure is cuddling with their husband, in bed, all night long.”

“Oh? What’s the prognosis without treatment?”

“It’s terminal.” You sigh dramatically, loosening your hands from his hold to fully slip his tie off. “They’ll be dead within hours if they don’t get the proper care soon enough.”

Zayne can’t fight his smile. If he’s being honest with himself, he’s exhausted, too. The extra hours he works aren’t necessary by any means, but he can’t stop himself from trying to catch up on paperwork or helping where he can. It’s not sustainable in the long term, or it shouldn’t be, but he can’t remember a time when he wasn’t up at all hours of the day studying or working.

He sighs. He grabs your hand again to lift it to his lips, kissing your knuckles one by one. “Is it contagious?”

You nod, humming. “Very. There’s a 100% rate that you’ll catch it, too.”

“Then, I suppose, we’ll both have to get treatment together.”

He can feel your smile when you kiss his cheek. You’ve finally succeeded in your mission to drag Zayne to bed.

You reluctantly get off of him so he can stand from the couch, abandoning his laptop on the coffee table. You’re a little unsteady on your feet, vision blurry with exhaustion from staying up so late. He steadies you with an arm around your shoulders and pulls you into his side. You wrap both of your arms around his waist, even if it makes walking a bit trickier while he leads you back to the bedroom.

You sit on the edge of the bed. Even through half-lidded eyes, you watch as he undresses from his work clothes and into pajamas, a nice set that you’d gotten him early on into your relationship. Your brain short-circuits a little at the thought.

You’re actually married to this man. To Zayne. Dr. Zayne.

He catches you staring with a frown of concern. “My love? What’s wrong?”

You shake your head. It’s too late to get overwhelmed with your love for him. Or too early. What time is it anyway?

You tug at the hem of the sweater you stole. “Help me out of this?”

Zayne grins, a glint in his eye like he knows that’s not what you were thinking about, but his hands are all too caring as they slide up your sides, pulling off the sweater and setting it to the side to worry about in the morning. He holds your face like this precious thing when he leans down to kiss your forehead. Your nose. Your cheek. Your lips.

You sigh into the kiss. All your desperate longing of the day is stolen away. Every pout and frown to yourself from missing your morning kiss, gone.

When he pulls away, you grab his sleep shirt’s collar and pull him back in. He chuckles softly against your mouth, but obliges, tilting his head to kiss you deeper. There’s nothing heated about the kiss. It’s passionate, yes, but it’s tender and languid.

“‘Cuz I didn’t get my morning kiss,” you murmur when you finally let him pull away.

He hums thoughtfully, but his voice is teasing as he says, “I’ll try not to forget next time.”

You let him go. He rounds the bed to his side while you climb back under the covers. They’re colder now, but his arms around you make up for it tenfold. You fall asleep listening to his heart, and he drifts off with the weight of you holding onto him.

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @huen1ngk41 @armycaratlover @cheesemachine44

#fanfic #fanfiction #zayne #zayne x reader #love and deepspace zayne #lads zayne #lnds zayne #love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #lads #lads x reader #lnds #lnds x reader #fluff #gn reader #x gn reader #gender neutral reader

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tenpintsof-sundrop · 1 year ago

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you don't need an AO3 app - round 2!!!

"AO3 is ugly and I hate the formatting!" -> you can download site skins. very gorgeous ones. and you can use them to change the aesthetics and visuals of AO3. just search 'AO3 skin' on Tumblr or even on google and you will be in A Whole New World. (and those searches should yeild tutorials on how to install the skins as well - it's not something I know a lot about, because I used to primarily use Quizilla and FFN, so I am more than used to Ugly Website. AO3 is very aesthetic and pretty compared to those.)

"AO3 is too bright!!! it hurts my eyes!!!" -> there is a dark mode. scroll down to the bottom. there is a heading that says 'customize'. under this heading, hit the button that says 'reversi'. that is their version of dark mode. and again, you can look for site skins that you like that have a darker background.

"I want to be able to make reading lists!" -> you can make bookmark collections on AO3. In your bookmarks, there is a button that says 'add to collection' beside each work. have fun. go ham. (Also, you can make private bookmarks if you are reading something with more controversial content that you don't really want others to know about - and please know, that any bookmark comments you make on public bookmarks can be seen by the author.)

(this last one made me laugh - because it seems like people are just coming up with bullshit excuses to 'need' an AO3 app when there is literally nothing that an app can go that AO3 can't.)

"my memory is really bad because of reasons sooo I remember to use things better by having them on my homescreen like an app!!!" -> create an AO3 shortcut on your homescreen. most mobile browsers have the capability to put a shortcut to a specific link or a specific website on your homescreen so that you can go straight there - like you would with opening an app. and it can be labelled 'the AO3 app' while simply having the icon of that browser. you can even do this with a link to a specific fic that you are in the process of reading (even down to the specific chapter that you were on). there is literally 0 reasons to have or use an AO3 app.

and remember kids!!! any and all apps with AO3 in their title are not associated with the real archiveofourown in any way, shape, or form - they are unofficial, and technically, they are illegal. and using them is putting all fanficition writers at risk legally (even if there is no active lawsuits right now) - just don't fucking use them. it is a threat to the entire fanfiction hobby just because you want 'the app experience'.

the archive is a non-profit website with 0 ads for a reason, and those apps are scummy scammers who put ads on our stories to make fast easy money when none of the people who made those stories ever consented to it.

#god #seeing people on tiktok say that they use ao3 apps drives me wild #sundrop speaks #archive of our own #ao3 #fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #psa #daryl dixon x reader #ellie williams x reader #eddie munson x reader

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omgiamwish · 3 months ago

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To Lose A Friend

Summary: Bumblebee falls into the cybermatter. He doesn’t get up. Nobody else is doing anything to save Optimus. Smokescreen leaps.

A/N: I recently caught feelings for Transformers again. And I know I’m not gonna be here long, but I thought that- while I am- I might as well rewrite the one (1) thing I wrote for it 4 years ago.

Read below or on AO3

Smokescreen stops venting. Heat builds around his spark, spreads to his limbs, trapped in his body, burning, burning. But not really burning. Not quite. Not like Bumblebee’s chassis as he falls down, down, down, forward momentum ruined as thoroughly as his chest plate. The fire snuffs out near instantly. Smoke billows, but even that disperses in the mere seconds before Bumblebee hits the pool of cybermatter.

Dead.

Smokescreen tips forward, straining against the claws holding him. A sound of denial leaves him, pitifully small.

Optimus echoes it moments later.

Though, ‘echoes’ is assuredly the wrong word for the furious, thunderous roar that the Prime turns the word of denial into.

Smokescreen’s vents stutter back into motion.

Optimus lashes out against the warlord, their enemy, Bumblebee’s murderer.

Megatron is going to die.

It’s not a triumphant thought. It should be. Primus, it should be.

It’s not even a relief so much as… a hollow certainty. Too little, too late. And that’s not fair, he knows, not to the uncountable Autobot lives already lost to this war. Why was it not already too late before this battle? Why only now?

But Smokescreen’s never seen a friend die before.

A slash of purple light sends Optimus flying. He skids off the platform, disappearing over the edge. Smokescreen stops venting again and waits to see Optimus reappear below the platform, falling toward Earth. He doesn’t. He must have caught himself. Megatron stalks toward the edge. Nobody else is doing anything.

Bumblebee is dead and Optimus is going to die and nobody is doing anything!

Smokescreen wrenches his arm from the grip holding him, lets the claws dig grooves into his plating, and slams his servo onto the phase shifter.

He surges forward.

The vehicons yell.

Smokescreen leaps.

It’s a perfect arc. Not the same trajectory as Bumblebee, but the same target. Started from a different angle, farther up, because Smokescreen is reckless, always reckless. But a lack of recklessness doesn’t make Bumblebee any less dead. And it’s too late anyway, Megatron raising the Dark Star Saber over his helm, ready to strike, and Smokescreen isn’t there yet.

“MEGATRON!” he screams, fury and terror maxing out his voice box.

Megatron turns.

And then Smokescreen crashes into him, hard enough to almost send them both off the platform. Megatron flails, and Smokescreen wonders if he’ll let the momentum take him and just change into his alt mode, unconcerned with the drop to Earth when he can fly. But Megatron tries to keep his footing for one precious second. The only second that Smokescreen, arms buried shoulder-struts deep in Megatron’s chest, needs to grab anything and everything he can from a cybertronian’s most vital area and yank.

Wires snap. Lines burst, spraying Smokescreen in hot energon. Everything lights up purple.

Dark energon. Smokescreen stares in disbelief at the shard clenched in his servo. Nobody had told him. Had nobody known?

Blue optics meet red. There is fear there, fear for his own pathetic life, and Smokescreen thinks he finally knows what real hate feels like.

“You’ve killed your last ‘bot,” he hisses. Then, keeping his grip on what he’s already torn out of the monstrous pile of scrap, he kicks off.

More things tear, more energon splatters the ground. Megatron’s optics flicker dark before he even clears the edge of the platform.

Smokescreen stands, venting heavily for a long moment before he can convince his servos to release their gory contents. And then he steps to the edge.

For a moment, he watches the empty shell of the warlord burn in Earth’s atmosphere. Optimus, from where he dangles off the platform, watches too. And maybe it’s Smokescreen’s imagination, his fury turned into something cold and dead, but he almost thinks that Optimus hesitates when Smokescreen offers a servo up. Like he’d rather let go and let gravity take him.

But Optimus lets himself be pulled up. He even thanks Smokescreen, though his words are as hollow and exhausted as Smokescreen’s ever heard them, even more than when the Prime lay dying in front of him. Smokescreen just nods in return and Optimus moves past him, optics trained on the dark shape in the cybermatter.

And Smokescreen…

He gets it now, he thinks. Why everyone hated him at first, when all he talked about was how excited he was to finally play an active part in the war. The glory, the heroics.

He looks up at them now, Arcee and Ratchet, both standing at the edge of the platform above. Lonely shapes when all the Decepticons have fled. How many friends have they watched die?

Smokescreen becomes aware again, suddenly, of the pain in his arm. And he hates it, because it reminds him that Bumblebee never should have been the one taking that leap. If Smokescreen had been faster, smarter… if he’d been more careful, or dodged Shockwave’s shot…

Yeah, sure, maybe he would’ve ended up scrap instead. Right now, watching Optimus Prime stretch as far as he can over the pool of cybermatter, reaching for his lifeless scout…

He’s glad he’s still alive. Really. He just doesn’t exactly feel like he deserves to be.

#transformers prime #transformers #tfp #tfp smokescreen #tfp megatron #tfp optimus prime #character death #fan art #artists on tumblr #fanfic

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olderthannetfic · 10 months ago

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my problem is that i have two modes when it comes to writing fic: wholesome, comedic fluff and off-the-wall, dark, very un-wholesome stuff. now, to me, those two things coexist very well. i've mostly just been posting the more silly wholesome stuff because i usually write those in one go and just whack them onto the web without caring too much. but i want to post some of the darker fics too and i'm wondering if i should be worried about posting them to the same ao3 account? like is there some etiquette that says best keep your fluff separate from your violence/smut?

No. It builds character to have to see authors as full people rather than brands.

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ao3scrapesearch · 30 days ago

Note

Hey so I'm not very tech savvy but I was wondering if adding random silly lines or just something that makes no sense between paragraphs/sentences on our fics can poison AI if the fics are scraped?? I tried something by adding some random lines with white text between paragraphs of my fic which don't show up on default ao3 mode but they are a part of the text nonetheless. Of course that'll involve more efforts on part of the writers to add lines and format the white text using html and workskins but if it does turn out to be effective it might make ao3 less lucrative for AI scraping if a major amount of works contain this and it'll make it harder for AI training. It does have drawbacks that it'll only work on default mode so anyone using dark skin on ao3 might have to switch to be able to read properly and it'll make works less accessible to readers who use text to audio if there are random lines in between but what other options are we left with if even archive locking our works doesn't work??

You absolutely could, but there are limitations to that.

For one, like you said, you're making your work inaccessible to certain readers. That's fully within your rights, though I think most of us strive not to exclude people using screen readers.

Second, from what I know, when you download a dataset like this and intend to use it to train an AI model, you first go through the dataset looking for obvious junk data and toss that out. So if you're putting something that is clearly not real fanfic in there, any decent data analyst is probably going to spot it and toss your fic. If that's your goal, that's a win for you. Personally, if I'm making the effort to inject poison data, my goal is to be included in the training data used so I can trash the model, so I don't want it to be obvious.

Third, I don't see anything explicitly in AO3's TOS against adding data poison in this way, but I don't see them endorsing doing that either. It feels like a grey area to me, and I'm not sure you're allowed to do it, so I am not recommending anyone do this. Rest of this post is theoretical.

So theoretically, how I would do it is putting the junk data at the end of the fic/chapter. Hide it like you're saying, by changing the font and/or background color of the section with CSS. Then put a nice, clear message right after the chapter ends and the junk data starts, something like, "Hey, readers! This chapter is over. Turn off your screen reader and move to the next chapter now." That gives your real humans a warning and stops them from being confused or wasting their time. Then dump your poison. You can also write something in the beginning A/N, I believe. I know this most recent scraper never ever pulled data from the author's notes, so the AI wouldn't see anything you put in that section.

Scrapers are typically pulling your work without the workskin enabled, so for formatting, you're really just trying to make it look nice for your real readers so they don't have to see your poison.

As far as actual poison, my suggestions:

Your own writing or writing you have explicit permission to use, so you're not breaking anyone's copyright. Easy mode: jumbled paragraphs of your own past works for any fandom except the one your current fic is for.

As mentioned above, don't put absolute nonsense in there. If it's bad enough, it'll be spotted and filtered out. Like, if it's not even real words, anyone feeding it to AI is probably going to catch that and toss your data out, excluding it from the model. It might be fine if it's all real words, but not in any sensible order. Not sure on that. But don't just insert keysmashes if you want your data to be used in the AI training.

Terrible crackfic would be good. So would writing for a completely different fandom and different tags. The writing should not fit well with the tags you use for the fics. (So if the real fic is tagged Fluff and Alternative Universe - Coffee Shop, your poison should not include that. Make the poison a hurt no comfort canon-compliant fic or something else different.)

Keep in mind you should not be putting E-rated data poison in a G-rated fic. Real humans may still see this no matter how much you hide it, particularly if they download a PDF copy of your fic. If it's content that requires a warning per AO3's rules (explicit content, graphic violence, etc), you do still have to tag for that, even if it's designed to be invisible to humans.

Use unique writing, so even if someone later using it for AI catches it once, they can't just search for the exact wording you used in one fic and easily filter out all the rest of your poison. Again, this is if you want to be included in the AI training to throw the model off.

Again, theoretically, if I were going to do this, this is the CSS code I might use for my poison section of the fic:

#workskin .fuckai { background: #333333; color: #333333; font-size: 1%; }

It would theoretically look like a weird grey gap to mobile users or be nearly invisible to desktop users, even if it contained, say... 1,000 additional words.

Finally, scrapers are trying to grab millions of fics from AO3 when they do it. They're not looking closely at 13 million fics. They're only searching for the most obvious junk. So the only reason you would want to hide it like that is to make a better experience for your real readers. You don't need to hide it to get it into a scraper's AI model.

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heyitsme1040 · 1 year ago

Note

Hiii! I just saw your repost, where you said you're going through writers block, and I want to request an mcu headcanons about

Tony Stark / Bucky Barnes / and Loki Laufeyson (all seperate) X a gn reader who gets extra clingy when they're sleepy/tired!

Have a good night!

This is so cute! Thank you for the request, it was super fun to write.

How Marvel Men Would React to: You Being Clingy When Tired

feat. Tony Stark, Bucky Barnes, and Loki Laufeyson

AO3 (x)

Tony Stark

He hates how little sleep you get, but he also loves how accepting of his affection you are. Tony hates when you don't get enough sleep. He's no example of a healthy sleep schedule, but you're just barely doing better than he is. It's obvious when it happens. You rub your eyes harshly throughout the day, words seem to escape your thoughts when explaining your latest idea, and you become clumsy. When well rested you enjoy Tony's company. Always greeting each other with kisses, spending most of the day together, but still managing to do your own things. But when you're tired, you crave his presence. You'll slip in front of him when he tinkers and wrap your arms around him. You'll settle into his space and he'll continue working. It isn't an uncommon sight for you to be straddling his lap, face against his shoulder, while he sits in an office chair. Right now Tony wants nothing more than to scoop you up and carry you to bed, except he's in important meetings that have already been rescheduled four times. He kisses you before going into his office to be ready for the video conferences. You pout as he crosses the hall. Not wanting to go far away, you work on the project you've been thinking over. It's as you're writing down the last portion of your formula that your focus is gone. Frustration builds as you cross out more and more of what you'd just written. Slowly, the lack of sleep catches up to you. You were crashing, and any more coffee was a bad idea. Finally giving in you drop the pen. You unlocked your phone, squinting at the harsh brightness of the screen, and sent Tony a text. You didn't want to interrupt his meetings, but you also knew trying to fall asleep without him would be difficult. Tony is relieved when the meetings go by faster than he was expecting them to. Once he disconnects from the last video conference, he goes across the hall to the workshop. Surprised by its emptiness, he grabs his phone to call you only to see your text. He smiles, rushing upstairs to the bedroom. You're curled up in one of his sweatshirts while laying on his side of the bed, face squished against his pillow. He steps out of his shoes while crossing the room. You lift your head as soon as his steps ring through the room. The moment he sits on the bed to lay down, you move to wrap your arms around his waist with a huff. Tony can't help the fond chuckle that escapes him. He'll pull your hands away for a moment, a quiet whine escaping you, before scooping you into his lap. He'll lay down, shifting you so that his chin is just above your head. His breaths cause you to be gently rocked. Your legs tangle together, and he makes a dramatic gasp when your cold toes press against his ankles. "Not close enough,” you mumble against the column of his throat. His responding hum vibrates against your lips. You bury your head further into his neck. Tony's arms slip beneath his hoodie you're wearing and rub your back while holding you tighter to him. The content sigh you release makes him feel more accomplished than any of those meetings did. He presses his lips against your hair. He doesn't pull away, just enjoying having his lips against you while feeling the warmth of your skin. "You should sleep,” he mumbles against you. You fight off a yawn before replying, "You should, too.” "Deal. JARVIS, enter black out mode.” "Certainly sir,” the robotic voice acknowledges. "Black out mode engaged.” The lights turn off and the shutters close, plunging the room into darkness. A projection of the stars dimly covers the ceiling. Tony pulls a cover over the both of you.

Bucky Barnes

You sat in the living room, nursing a cup of coffee, and watching the sun rise higher by the hour. Your nightmares were getting worse. You were glad Bucky was on a mission until this afternoon, not wanting to disturb the little sleep he could get. It was a long week, but you could manage. You couldn't help the nightmares that plagued your sleeping mind. They left their mark against you, the dark circles under your eyes anything but subtle. It was a surprise when you heard the lock in the door. Just as you whipped around to look, the door swung open, revealing Bucky. He dropped his bag as you hurried across the room. In your rush, you tripped over the small rug in your hallway. Bucky's arms were quick to be around you. He picked you up, your legs going around his waist. "Hi,” you breathed out. "I've got you,” Bucky kissed you while kicking the door closed. "What are you doing up?” "Couldn't sleep.” You felt Bucky's shoulders slump as he gently traced the circles under your eyes. "How many?” You bit your lip, not wanting to worry him. But you also knew he understood. While you debated, Bucky sat on the couch. The sunlight cast golden beams into the room, making you feel safe. "It was just eleven…” you trailed off. Bucky frowned, a small crease appearing between his brows. “Sweetheart, why didn't you let me know you needed me? I would have been here as fast as possible.” You sagged against him, using his large frame as your personal pillow. “Because I didn't want to worry you, and your mission was important…” “You're important,” he said disapprovingly. “I know,” you promise. "But your mission was so short.” He gave you an unimpressed look. “I was gone four days.” You sagged against him further, no longer supporting your weight. Bucky sighed as snores came from you. He hated that you didn't sleep while he was away. Both of you suffered from nightmares. The only solution that kept them away was when the two of you slept beside each other. He knew your nightmares, just as you knew his. He slowly stood up, cradling you against him. Going to the bed, he tucked you in. The small whimper that left you as he moved around the bed made his heart clinch. Even asleep you were reaching out for him. He laid down, pulling your malleable body into his hold. His heart always soared when you were tired, loving how touchy you became. Usually you would wait for him to initiate physical touches, but when you were asleep? All you wanted to do was touch him. The first time he discovered this made his heart melt. Sleeping was when you were most vulnerable, and all you wanted when sleeping was him. The trust you had in him to protect you while slept was the best feeling possible to him.

Loki Laufeyson

Loki's adoration of you grew daily. You were self assured and confident, easily seeming like an immovable force. And you were, but Loki got to see what you were like behind closed doors. Loki witnessed you when the bravado was washed away. Witnessed how dedicated you were to the people in your life. He was lucky enough to be one of those people. Loki's favorite time was the evening. Getting to relax with you after a long day was perfection to him. Being around you energized him from the tiring tasks of the day. Learning your quirks was an added bonus of spending evenings together. His favorite was when you were tired. He was used to falling asleep in each other's arms, but what he didn't expect was your nightly request that he speak. Anything from tales of Asgard to having him ramble about seemingly nothing. Each night he looked forward to lulling you to sleep with his stories. He learned, slowly, that his voice was what allowed you to sleep peacefully. Some nights, when your breathing was evened out, he'd stop talking. It was these nights you would hold onto him tighter, angling your body as if you were trying to shield him from something. He would stroke your hair and begin talking again, and you would relax against him. Instead of your hands clinging to his shirt, they would lay flat against his chest. He loved the way you would ask him to tell you something. Your eyes would flutter shut, but then you were jerking awake again as if you wanted to avoid sleeping for as long as possible. You would finally give in, resting your forehead against his. “Tell me something,” you'd whisper. “What would you like to hear?” He'd brush your hair away from your eyes. It became a game for him, guessing what your reply would be. If you'd want him to finish a story you fell asleep in the midst of, or to start a new story. Maybe you would want to hear about his thoughts on a book, or request he talk about anything. It didn't matter to him, just as long as you were relaxed. Clinging onto his words more than consciousness was a gift you weren't even aware you were giving him. He relished these moments, committing them to his memory.

#fanfiction #fanfiction writer #fanfic blog #request #fanfiction requests #loki layfeson #loki x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky fanfic #james buchanan barnes #james bucky buchanan barnes #loki fanfic #tony stark #marvel fanfiction #marvel #tony stark x reader #tony stark fanfiction

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starwarsmum · 1 month ago

Text

Let SuperMari May begin! First prompt is Meet Fail

@maribat-calendar-events

AO3

PinkFrenchMarigold: I can't believe I get to come to meet you in person at last! Are you sure your dad doesn't mind me staying for a couple of days?

HortonsCoffeeFiend: please Mari, he might not even notice you're there

PFM: pfft, whatever you say, Timbit. Still good to meet me at the airport?

HCF: 👍 absolutely! I'll bring the coffee and doughnuts

PFM: my hero! Going dark, see you in 10 hours or so 🫶

*_____*

Marinette put her phone away, setting it to aeroplane mode before relaxing into her first class seat. She hadn't been sure she wanted to spend that much on the flight but Alya had convinced her that she would want the extra leg room and privacy. And now that she was settling into the chair, she could admit that it was absolutely necessary.

Pulling out her sketchbook, she let her mind wander as she sketched out a design for a new line of hero inspired clothes. The main duo of the Parisian team, Scarabella and Chat Noir, were joining the Justice League that day and it meant that other people might want merchandise of the team. She'd been designing little bits for a long time, but now she would be able to market it to a wider audience.

Mullo peeked out of her purse after the first hour of the flight and Marinette pulled out some cheese cubes, scattering them on the tray table. The tiny mouse Kwami grinned and began nibbling immediately. It was crazy to think she had been part of the team that took down Hawkmoth' and she was a little sad that she wasn't going to be introduced to the Justice League.

She shook her head at herself. She was moving across the world, meeting her online friend in person for the first time, and it wasn't like any of the rest of the team were joining yet either. Maybe once she was settled in Gotham she could talk to Alya about bringing her into it, but for now she was going to focus on being Marinette.

She smiled as she checked the time and decided to try and get some sleep.

_ _ _

The mood on the WatchTower was fairly relaxed and Kon watched as his best friend updated his notes on the Parisian team. They were due to arrive any minute and, because they were presumed to be the closest in age to them, Kon and Tim were supposed to be part of the welcome party.

“I thought you were supposed to be busy today,” he said when he thought Tim was less distracted.

“Yeah, I will be, but right now I'm okay for time. My friend doesn't land for another few hours and we should be done with plenty of time to spare for me to get to the airport,” Tim shrugged, saving his files and standing.

“I can't believe you have an online civilian friend that you invited to Gotham. Wouldn't it have been smarter to go to them?”

“Maybe if she hadn't been stuck in Paris for the past few years. Besides, I'm locking her up in the manor for a bit until I can tell if she can handle herself.”

“That would be really concerning if I didn't know you,” Kon laughed, his grin turning roguish in the next moment. “And when do I get to meet your online friend? Maybe I can come and introduce myself while she's locked up in whatever tower you choose for her.”

“Ha ha, funny. Marigold doesn't need another target on her back, it's bad enough that I'm probably going to have to keep her safe from Rogues. I don't really want to have to worry about Lex on top of all that.”

“Fine, I'll have to meet her when you don't have her locked up I guess.”

“Don't you have an off-world mission to get ready for?” Tim asked, sounding annoyed. Kon grinned widely, pleased that he'd managed to get under his skin so easily. He was fairly sure Tim was in love with his online friend, so he hoped she was everything she seemed. Tim deserved to be happy.

_ _ _

Adrien was excited to meet some of the Justice League, he just wished Marinette could be there with them. He knew why she wasn't, even agreed that it should just be him and Alya to begin with, but he still missed his best friend.

“What do you think they'll be like?” He asked when they were waiting at the Paris Zeta Tube to be escorted in. “Multi seemed to think this was a good thing, but she didn't want to come up so…”

“You know she was busy,” Alya said. They were prevented from continuing their conversation by the Zeta Tube lighting up and Wonder Woman stepping out to greet them. They exchanged hellos and then they followed the older heroine into the tube and up to the WatchTower.

“Oh my god, that's Batman,” Adrien said in a hushed voice as they entered the meeting room. Alya looked like she was barely containing a fangirl squeal as Wonder Woman joined Batman and Superman. “Uh, hi, nice to meet you. I'm Chat Noir, this is Scarabella.”

“Well met,” Wonder Woman said, smiling at them both. “Congratulations on defeating your villain, I'm sure it's a relief that Gabriel Agreste will no longer be terrorising your city.”

“It is,” Alya said, actively working not to look at Chat. He knew this because she was tense as a taut wire and he forced down the nausea that came with the knowledge that everyone knew it was Gabriel that had done it. That the man he had called a father was the reason most of his friends had been akumatised and the reason he had died more than once.

Shaking away the bad thoughts, they were formally inducted into the Justice League and introduced to a few heroes that were similar ages to them. Once that was all complete, Superman informed them cheerfully that they were expected at a few upcoming meetings and that support was available through the trials and any further investigations for Hawkmoth.

Adrien found himself relaxing completely once the big three were gone, leaving him and Alya in the care of Red Robin and the elder Superboy. It all seemed to be going well until Superboy started to quiz them on the rest of their team. Red Robin seemed to get frustrated and embarrassed on behalf of his friend.

“Do you think you'll bring the rest of your team up some time?” Superboy asked, and Red Robin looked like he wanted to hit him. “I thought you were going to bring everyone up here at once. Weren't there, like, fifteen of you?”

“Something like that,” Alya said breezily. “But most of them are retired now and the others…they have their own lives to get on with. If any of them want to come up, we'll let them know that they're welcome but I don't want to pressure them at all. Hawkmoth wasn't really a barrel of laughs.”

“So long as they know they're welcome, that's cool,” Red Robin said, shooting Superboy a look that said ‘shut up’ that even Adrien could read through the mask.

“Maybe one day we'll get our strategist up here, she's a goddamn powerhouse,” Adrien said, grinning as he thought about Marinette.

“Yeah, but is she hot?” Superboy asked cheekily, and Adrien thought he understood why Red had been getting annoyed. He wondered if Superboy flirted with many heroes.

“Oh, like a supernova,” Alya nodded sagely. “But also not interested in dating a hero so you're out of luck I'm afraid.”

“Guess I'll just have to try my luck with Red's friend then,” he smirked, leaning back in a chair so far it rested on two legs.

Adrien gave a bark of laughter when Red Robin kicked his chair out from under him.

_ _ _

Tim was not running late. He knew that it was more than likely that Mari’s flight would land on time but then customs would be a nightmare, so he was comfortably on time, he was sure. Besides, the coffee would get cold if he arrived too early, so getting there slightly after wasn't a bad thing.

But luck was not on his side because as he pulled up, he got a notification that a B-list rogue was trying to hold up the airport. Damian had already confirmed that he was nearby and would be expecting Tim to be suited up by the time he got there.

“Good, it appears that Condiment King is attempting to rob the passengers of the flight from Paris for some reason. We should do some reconnaissance and then plan accordingly,” Damian said when Tim arrived in costume.

“Fine, you head left, I'll head right and we'll meet at the back of the room to discuss strategies,” Tim said curtly, focusing on getting this done as soon as possible.

As they circled to the back of the room, Tim spotted one of the passengers slipping away and heading into a corridor marked ‘Employees Only’. It was a young woman in a pink hoodie and grey jeans, worn sneakers on her feet. Very notably not an airport employee. She must have abandoned her luggage except for a small bag on her shoulder. He lost sight of her momentarily when she turned a corner but he could hear her murmuring urgently. Perhaps she had been on the phone?

“Mullo, get squeaky!” Said the voice, and Tim froze. What on earth did that mean? And then a light flashed and when he turned the corner the young woman he had spotted was nowhere to be seen. Instead, a superheroine in grey and pink stood there, two buns atop her head and a skipping rope tied around her waist. She gave a squeak when she turned and saw Tim, hand flying to her rope. “Uh, oh, you must be one of the local heroes, right? Red Robin, unless I'm mistaken. Hi, I'm Multimouse! Want a hand?”

“...sure, why not.”

Rounding up the goons took minimal effort between Tim, Damian and the new hero. She wasn't seen by anyone else but she was capable and strategic, following Tim's orders and offering insightful suggestions that sped things along. When it was over, she vanished with a quick salute in his direction, smiling brightly.

“She was…not horrendous,” Damian said stiffly. It took Tim by surprise because that was practically a compliment coming from him. “Hadn't you better go and find your friend? On the off chance that you have not been cat fished, she must be rather perturbed by the attack.”

“Thanks Robin, I'll see you back at base,” he acknowledged, changing back to his civilian clothes in record time. He grabbed the cups of coffee and the box of doughnuts, and headed for the arrivals.

Looking around, he held the box as visibly as he could, checking his phone. He sent a picture of the doughnut box and flipped the camera to show his line of sight and hoped that was enough for her to find him. He was staring at the check marks to see if they changed colour when someone stopped in front of him. He glanced up and was met by the woman he knew had to be Multimouse. He froze for a fraction longer than felt comfortable, until she broke the awkwardness.

“Tim? Or, uh, whatever your real name is, HortonsCoffeeFiend,” she said, a slight tremor in her voice giving away her nerves. He was a little astounded that she was nervous to meet him when she had been completely calm during the fight.

“Oh, uh, it actually…yeah, my name's Tim. Tim Drake,” he said, feeling a little smug when she laughed. “What about you, Marigold? Or would you rather I just keep using that?”

“Marinette, actually,” she said with a bubbly giggle. “That's so crazy, what were the odds I would have picked your actual name? You look like you would know that sort of thing.”

“Rude,” he said, holding out her coffee cup. “Sorry, it's probably a little cold now. But welcome to Gotham! As much as it sucks that you got caught in an attack, it's really…kind of common. Not how I pictured this meeting going though,” he added glumly.

“Yeah, I thought I'd get at least a couple of days in before I experienced one of your villains,” she agreed, accepting the coffee and taking a sip. Upon finding that it was more than a little cold, she grimaced before chugging it back. “Hmmm, not too bad. At least it's caffeine.”

“I'll get you a hot one another time,” Tim promised, reaching to take her bags. She shared them with him and chattered happily as he led her to his car. “I should probably warn you, my house is kind of…manic. And big.”

“That's fine, I won't stay too long. Thanks for offering me a space, I really didn't want to get an apartment without seeing it in person. Plus, I couldn't come to Gotham without meeting my online coffee bestie.”

They lapsed into silence when they were seated, Marinette opening the doughnut box and offering it to him first. They got through the box of half dozen fairly quickly and he laughed when she licked her fingers clean.

“I take it you want a serviette or something instead,” she mused, pulling napkins out of her purse.

“Sure would, thanks,” he said, accepting them without taking his eyes off the road.

“Would you be up for hitting a drive-thru or something? The doughnuts were nice and all, but I think I need something more substantial.”

“Sure, why not,” he agreed, mentally figuring out where the closest drive-thru was and how to get there. Which was probably why he missed the sharp look she sent his way.

Once they had more food, Marinette seemed to be mulling something over. She ate quickly and was done well before they pulled up at the manor. But where most new arrivals gawked at the massive building, Marinette was studying him. He cocked his head, wondering what the problem was, when she groaned and hit her head onto his dash.

“Uh, are you okay?” He asked, nervous suddenly. He knew the manor was intimidating, but-

“Oh, yeah, just peachy thanks. Just wondering if you know the odds on us both having secret identities,” she said, tone flat.

Well hell.

#maribat #mlb x dc #supermari may #konette #kon x marinette #marinette x kon #dc x mlb #ao3 #fanfic #ao3 fanfic #maribat event #platonic timinette #platonic timari #supermari may 2025

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starkraivennemad · 4 months ago

Text

Things Were Beginning To Change

“Oh, dear me. He should not sit, foot crossed, where his complete lack of basic maintenance is displayed for town and sundry to gawk upon. It’s a nearly £1500 pair of imperial whole-cut Oxfords, for heaven’s sake!” Mycroft Holmes gave a quiet but dejected sigh from his depths.

Gregory Lestrade glanced in the general direction of Mycroft’s line of view, spied the footwear offense in question, and tutted, “his sole is practically as threadbare as his mind, I’d imagine, and none to train him not to wear such with… denim.”

“Exactly!” Mycroft appreciated the validation until he caught Gregory’s little mischievous smile. “You mock me.”

“Just a tad,” Gregory admitted, his warm eyes gleaming. “You’re a strange man, Mycroft.”

“Am I, now?” Mycroft gave him an icy glare.

“Just a tad,” Gregory repeated, completely unfazed. “So, what if you’re strange? You’re still fun to have around.”

“Fun?” Mycroft nearly choked.

“I know, who’d’ve thunk it?” Gregory’s warm dark eyes twinkled in mirth until his phone buzzed, “Dammit, we’re barely done with appetizers! One moment…”

Though it irked him how the D.I. remained patently immune to his glare, Mycroft was secretly pleased that Gregory felt comfortable enough to tease playfully. The Gregory Mycroft knew a few years ago certainly would not have done so.

To be fair, the man Mycroft Gregory knew a few years ago would not have let him.

As Gregory took the call from work, Mycroft contemplated what had changed.

Nothing had changed.

Yet, as Gregory’s playful mood faded to seriousness as he slipped into officer mode and began to take notes, Mycroft realized that was not entirely true anymore. Mycroft believed he was at the zenith of where his thoughts would take him concerning Detective Inspector Lestrade: a patient soul -he had to be to put up with Sherlock, an earnest man, a good cop. Nothing more.

Some part of him understood he was wrong; a transformation was happening, not just with Gregory but also with himself.

Nothing had changed, but things were beginning to...

“Apologies…” Gregory rang out.

“Duty calls.” Mycroft signaled their server for the check.

It was not the first time one, or the other’s man, job interrupted dinner. It would not be the last.

It was the first time it was evident neither were happy about it.

“I’m afraid so,” Gregory’s smile was rueful as he rose. “See you next month – if our schedules allow?”

“If our schedules allow…” Mycroft agreed enigmatically. “Or…”

“Or…?” Gregory raised a curious brow.

“We can try again tomorrow – if our schedules allow?”

Mycroft was not prepared to think about how he felt seeing the happiness that flashed across Gregory’s face at the offer before he schooled it.

“If our schedules allow…” Gregory echoed with a curt nod and reluctantly walked away.

As Mycroft watched Gregory maneuver his way to the exit, he realized he might have taken the first steps on what could be a long road traveled with the man.

Zenith? It was only just beginning.

He was not sure if he liked it, but Mycroft knew he did not NOT like it.

Nothing had changed, but things were beginning to...

And that changed everything.

==================================

Read/Comment on AO3

@mystradepromptsandscenarios @fluffbruary

#mystrade monday #mystradedialogueprompt #mycroft holmes #greg lestrade #fluffbruary 2025

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keystonepublishing · 9 months ago

Text

Canary Card in the Dungeon Dark by Ciel_Creations

(Note: this fic, like most that come from Twitter, didn't actually have a title. The title here is one I kinda made up, based on the plot.)

After the last mammoth bind, I decided to take some weeks off, relax, and pay more attention to other stuff rather than continue bookbinding. Unfortunately, this came to an end when I looked through my AO3 bookmarks one day and discovered several fics—one of which I wanted to bind—completely deleted!

That punted me off my relaxin' ass and go straight to saving and binding fics I like from being gone forever. One of which was this: a fic from Twitter about Jimmy being a guide in Decked Out!

First off: Yes, there are people who write fics on Twitter.

Since the fic came from Twitter, I had to do some tweaks before printing. Besides the aforementioned title and the usual typesetting and editing, I also wanted to preserve the original tweet. But instead of just a screenshot, I decided to go hard mode and recreate it in Affinity Publishing. For what it's worth, at least it wasn't complicated.

The fic writer noted that the work was inspired by a fanart they saw. Specifically, the Dungeon Guide Jimmy fanart by Hybbart! So that had to be included, though that did raise some questions as to how should I 'decorate' the fic to match the Decked Out theme.

Birds and cages form important elements in the fic, so I wanted to include them within the typeset. Additionally, I wanted to experiment with page numbers after seeing some examples in other books, and make them a larger part of the overall layout. Solution: smash together the numbers and cages at the edges of pages! It did took a while to figure out how to make the numbers stand out against the bars, but the end result looks beautiful!

The bird element was much easier to handle. A canary silhouette as a section break was enough. And since this is minecraft, I decided to format the death message like if it came straight from chat.

Special thanks to Ciel_Creations for writing this fic!

#bookbinding #ficbinding #fanbinding #my bookbinds #jimmy solidarity #tangotek #solidaritek #team rancher #hermitcraft #mcyt #Decked Out 2

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exorcqism · 1 year ago

Text

𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐎 𝐊𝐀𝐌𝐎

„𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐓𝐘”

𝐂𝐖;; mature content. afab!reader, stoner!choso, non-curse/sorcerer AU, no uses of y/n. not proofread so i apologize in advance for any mistakes if they’re made.

𝐏𝐋𝐎𝐓;; choso’s mind has been spiraling for a couple days now. the fact that you wrote your phone number down on his hand had him going. he wanted to call you. he wanted to text you. but he just couldn’t. in order to be sanitary, he’d write the number down again on a sticky note and scrubbed the ink off his skin. he didn’t have time for a lover…but he felt like making time for you.

₊❏❜ ⋮ part one ⌒

. ݁ ࣪ ، ⌗ masterlist

: ̗̀➛ art creds by;; currently unknown. dividers are not mine, if you own these, you may claim them in comments.

: ̗̀➛ WORD COUNT;; 2.33K

dark mode recommended

do not copy this plot. i’m perfectly fine with inspirations but give creds. if this plot his stolen in any way, the post will be taken down and you will be blocked.

𝐃𝐀𝐊𝐎𝐓𝐀𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 ✉️🖇️;; idk how long this story will stretch but if ya like it,, i’ll make more parts to it. not too many though. i wanna get to geto too (as promised). hope ya enjoyyyy. reblog to support meeee and if you want more :D (also lmk if you wanna be tagged for possible upcoming parts if i decide to continue)

another note: i finally made a masterlist. that shit took me 5 HOURS to make because i was fixing and adding so much stuff. i just wanted it to be pretty. ya should go look at it :P and should i make a AO3??? i see so many writers with them and i was wondering if i should do that too..

final note: guys,, remember this is my personal twist on the mid 90’s era so some things from current time will be put into the story (such as the ability to text without emailing one another or using a pager, familiar current time songs that are added into the 90’s era of this story, certain tv shows/movies that came after the 90’s)

₊❏❜ ⋮ continue to part three ⌒

“choso, we should make the house look like a haunted house!” itadori suggests. october was the season of spooks and scares (as yuji put it) and choso wasn’t into festivities that much but if he had to do it to make his little brother happy, he would do it.

the boys make their way to the nearby department store, letting yuji pick out what decorations should be put up in the house. for a little boy, choso didn’t even even pick up how significantly scary the items were because yuji wasn’t shitting himself out of fear.

“uh…yuji, i know you said you wanted the place to look like a haunted house…are you sure you won’t freak yourself out and start crying?” choso said, stifling his laughter.

“i’m not gonna cry.” yuji crossed his arms. “and i’m not scared of some dumb clowns. they’re just decorations, anyway.”

yuji was more mature than he looked…in the aspect of fear. he was a small boy but things didn’t scare him easily. you could say he’s a risk taker outside his moments of vulnerability. choso knew that he’d might jump back behind him, tightly holding the hem his tan sweater if he saw kechizu. the male finally smiles at the pink haired boy and nods.

“you’re right. they’re fake.” choso says calmly.

as they approach the checkout area, yuji sees the food area. serving simple things like pizza, hotdogs and drinks. the stuff you’d find at a concession stand of a sports game.

“can we get a pizza?” yuji asked. choso paused. he didn’t intend on spending 13 dollars on food from a department store. he had other plans anyway.

“you sure you want that? i was gonna get you a happy meal before we went home.” the male yawned, threading his fingers through his hair. the sudden mention of a happy meal excites yuji like a child on christmas morning.

“never mind, i don’t want pizza.” itadori quickly switches. choso chuckled, knowing how easy it was to get yuji to think about his choices.

“aw, cute kid,” choso heard a voice behind him. the male whipped his head around, his brown hair following along with him, only to see you standing there with a smile.

“is this your little brother?”

choso flushed a red color when he instantly remembered your face, almost making him feel bad for not calling you or texting you since you dropped off your number to him. he was feeling slightly embarrassed.

“uh..yeah, that’s—this is yuji.” he stumbles a bit, trying not to make his embarrassment known. itadori already knows the deal, so he waves at you with a big toothy grin, making you smile and wave back at him.

“um..what’re you doing here?” choso queried, trying to spark a conversation first for once. the male was obviously nervous and you could see his cheeks reddening the more he looked at you. if you didn’t know any better, you would’ve thought he would explode right in front of your eyes.

“shopping, like everyone else,” you teased. “but really, i just gotta pick some stuff up for my mom and then i’ll be on my way.”

your eyes travel over to the shopping cart that yuji was clinging onto, looking at the halloweeny decorations and you smile.

“you don’t seem like the type to be into holidays really,” you start, “did your brother convince you?”

choso also looked at the shopping cart full of stuff and blushed even harder. he was already flustered enough. it couldn’t get any worse than this.

“oh—no..he didn’t,” he chuckled nervously, “i actually really like halloween. the scary shit—stuff…you know, the movies? they’re cool.”

you giggled at choso’s nervous attempts to speak to you about the festivities that he almost never participated in and the quick fix with his mistake of swearing in front of yuji like he wasn’t there.

“oh, so you like horror movies? yeah, you strike me as that kind of guy.” you said. you couldn’t help but notice his medium length hair, just like you had seen the other night when he was working, flowing in the wind that came through as the store doors slowly slid themselves open as customers exited the building.

the male wore an oversized tan sweater with a pair of joggers and some sneakers. you could tell this was a lazy outfit. something you’d call a ‘no one will see me’ outfit.

his eyes were tired and he had a stoic expression, aside from his profuse blushing that began to die down when he finally got the chance to relax, having his hands shoved down into his pant pockets. his irises were so pretty. a pretty shade of purple. you never seen anyone’s eyes look like his before.

the silence prolonged for a moment. the two of you suddenly ran out of things to say. this was perfectly fine for choso. he would’ve lost his mind if he had to keep talking. it wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy talking to you. he was just too scared.

but it wasn’t long before that silence was disturbed.

“my big brother really likes you. he thinks you’re pre—” itadori starts before choso swiftly covers his mouth with his significantly larger hand, making you giggle once more.

“i’m sorry about that…yuji just likes to say random stuff when the silence is too loud for him.” choso said trying to cover up his embarrassment.

“it’s okay,” you smiled at him. your words seemed to ease his nerves a bit but it wasn’t enough to completely calm him down. you glance down at your phone when you feel it vibrate against your thigh.

it’s your mom texting you, asking if you’re on your way back.

“oh, sh—shoot,” you say, quickly fixing your mistake before you actually said it. “i gotta go. my mom just texted.”

choso is quickly snapped out of his embarrassment trance and his head swings over to look at you, his hair following along.

“you’re going?” he asked. through his dead and serious expression, you could see a hint of sadness. a very small change in his usual expression. you nod.

“yeah. but listen, you should call me. you don’t have my number just to stare at it.” you remarked before hurrying off, waving at him as you did.

once you were out of his sight, his eyes quickly struck down to yuji. he looked like he wanted to scold the poor boy for publicly embarrassing him in front of you but he decided against it and his expression softened.

“let’s just get home…” the male sighed.

choso was happy it’s his day off. he got to stay home with his little brother to help decorate their home with terrifying decorations for halloween. choso couldn’t help but smile at yuji’s futile attempts to scare him with the masks from the store.

“come on, you aren’t even a little scared?” yuji removed the mask from his face and shook his head to fix his hair, which was flattened and sticking to his forehead.

“not even in the slightest.” choso chuckled before ruffling itadori’s hair lightly. “what about your friends? you try to scare them yet?”

“megumi is almost never impressed. he’s kinda lame….and out of the question.” yuji hummed. “but i can get nobara. she’s always screaming.”

“well, you can do that tomorrow,” choso yawned, “you gotta get ready for bed soon. you got school in the morning and i don’t want you to be tired and falling asleep in class.”

yuji frowned before he’d hug choso. it took a moment for choso to process the moment, given that he wasn’t too used to being hugged. choso finally hugged the boy back before smiling softly.

“i’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

yuji nodded and smiled back at his older brother before making his way to his room.

when yuji had finally gone to sleep, the house was quiet, leaving choso staring at the ceiling with his hair in disarray and an unlit cigarette between his lips all while he laid on the bed, doing maladaptive night dreaming.

‘workin out’ by JID played softly from the small radio that sat on the windowsill. his eyes slowly traveled over to the shoe box that stood out from all the other boxes in his closet. there was a bright yellow sticky note at the top with what seemed to have your phone number on it along with your name.

the male sat up on the bed and walked over to the box, snatching the sticky note from the box then walking over to his laptop that sat on the umber colored desk.

choso opened the laptop and navigated to the facetime app and decided to punch in your number. he could feel his stomach turning as the low adverb jingling sound repeated itself.

while he waited for you to answer, he’d take one of the rubber bands off of his wrist and tie his hair back, leaving his bangs to hang down in his face. he even took the time to fix the violet eyeshadow that he always had around his eyes, staining his fingers each time he touched around his eyelids. and finally, he’d press down on the bandage over his nose to make sure it was still sticking.

you suddenly pick up, finally answering choso’s call. your room was a bit dark like his, except you had your tv going on in the background. it was loud enough for choso to be able to hear.

unlike choso, you were sitting on your bed with your laptop. you had your hair tied up in twin messy buns with a little bit of your hair hanging down in your face. you wore a black spaghetti strap tank top, revealing the tattoo on your shoulder, and a pair of grey joggers with mismatch socks.

“i honestly did not hear this thing going off,” you giggled as you pushed the hair out of your face. you had been downstairs grabbing yourself a drink while choso was calling. “i’m sorry i didn’t answer right away, though.”

“oh..no, it’s fine. you aren’t busy are you?”

“no, not really. i was thinking about finishing this show i was watching. have you heard of american horror story?”

“yeah, i heard of it. i just never got around to watching it. i’d rather watch movies than an ongoing series.” choso explained simply before he’d light his cigarette. you nod, completely understanding his side.

“shit, well, what movies do you recommend? horror movies, since we’re in spooky season.” you flash a cheeky smile at him. choso’s heart skips a beat when you finally ask him what he’s interested in. he pauses and begins thinking, taking drags from his cigarette.

“there’s one movie, i can’t tell you all of em off the top of my head,�� he begins, “watch midsommar. it’s kinda disturbing but you might like it.”

“is it gory horror or..?” you ask before taking a sip of your drink as you began to type in the movie name into the search bar in another tab, scrolling through websites to catch any good details about said movie.

“you’ll have to see for yourself,” choso places two of his digits around the cigarette, gently adjusting it between his lips before it could slip out. you realize the longer you talked to him, the more comfortable he seemed to be but you could still see that he was nervous.

“maybe we can see about it together,” you suggest to the male. “whenever you’re free, of course.” you add quickly. all of a sudden, choso is blushing just as he did at the store earlier that day. you thought it was kinda adorable how he could look so disinterested to suddenly flustered and scared so quickly.

“i—well..” choso stammered, “yeah, sure…uh, we can watch tomorrow night when i put my little brother to bed. i don’t want him interrupting anything.”

you giggled, “aw, he’s so cute, though. but i get it. little kids can get in the way of a lot of stuff.”

the two of you conversed for what felt like hours. your voice was soothing to choso. each time you began to speak, he just imagined you calling his name…just once.

your call with choso ended around three in the morning, and your cheeks were pink, smiling to yourself as you remembered the random conversations that you two had not too long ago.

you hadn’t felt like this about a guy in a long time. while men were usually throwing themselves at you, choso was clearly the odd one out. he was a bit shy but assertive and smart.

choso’s voice was deep as it came from the depths of the ocean but his words flowed smoothly like butter when he wasn’t tripping and fumbling with his words trying to hide his embarrassment.

his style, his personality, the way he looked. in your eyes he was perfect but there were a million things stopping you from telling him you loved him.

what if he has a girlfriend already? what if he isn’t ready for a relationship? what if he doesn’t want one? he probably just wants to be friends.

aside from all those thoughts clogging your brain, you were aware that you’d be moving to fast by throwing that L word around loosely when you just met him a couple days ago.

“damn it.” choso sighed to himself.

‘you’re falling for her…but you don’t have time for her. what’re you doing?’ choso was beating himself up about the whole entire situation. another cigarette is taken out of the pack and lightened as he tried to calm his anxiety and spiraling thoughts.

he was going crazy. he didn’t know what he would do. he wanted you out of his head. he was starting to feel stupid for letting you swoon him as easily as you did at the bar.

part of him wished he never met you…

but he needed more of you.

𝐄𝐍𝐃.

⋆｡࿇ ·࣭࣪̇˖ 𖦹°༅༚

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