#dumbass accountability project

[mephiles-the-jester]

archiving my old shit has got me discovering digital footprints of mine i dont even remember who is this kid

[shibaraki]

STEADY BEGINNINGS ┊ TODOROKI SHOUTO

tags: GN reader, developing relationship (eventual friends to lovers), touch starved shouto, physical affection (hand holding + long hugs), good god the yearning, obliviousness, jealousy, fluff + angst, pro hero shouto, reader works at hero agency

wc: 3.8K

series masterlist: 2/5

Shouto was born to be a hero.

It is a sentiment shared by reporters and fans alike. Todoroki Shouto, the pride of Endeavor, the saving grace of his family name. True, his development had been entirely up to chance—no matter the intent or cruel desperation behind his father’s actions, he had to rely on the probability that the next offspring would win the genetic lottery—but low and behold, he did, and to many people that alone was a sign of destiny at work.

Ultimately, he chose to continue the path of being a hero himself, but no higher being put him there. His father did. At the time of his birth Shouto had not been a son, not even a baby. He was a project. A small, shapeless, squirmy thing. Malleable, like any young mind. It’s a miracle he retained any will and individuality.

Sometimes when alone with his thoughts, Shouto would hypothesise on the whys and the hows. The conclusion he always comes to is this: any sort of reality in which Shouto succumbs to his father’s ideals and manipulation would have to be a world in which his mother does not exist.

While his existence was planned, and wanted, he was to be a hero and as such, wasn’t cut from love—that came after. He loved his mother. So much so that when she hurt, he hurt. When she cried, he cried. She taught him what it meant to be gentle, to have hope, to aspire to be his own person. Years spent amongst the country's finest heroes and Shouto still regarded his mother as the bravest woman he knew, strong because she refused to be hardened by her circumstances; soft so that she can’t be broken again.

You are like his mother in that regard. Those same echoes of reassurance that softness isn’t weakness, and it isn’t earned. You’ve been touching him more as of late, as if determined to prove it. Static between brushed fingertips, words expressed by simply pressing your knees together, the weight of your hand on his bicep to garner his attention. The build up is subtle and cumulative and yet each instance strikes him with the magnitude of a thermodynamic explosion.

Nobody bats an eyelid to this shift in physicality, which makes it all the more difficult to determine whether he is reading into things or not. It could be that he’s noticing those small instances only because it’s you, and you are all he can think about lately.

You’ve given him permission to reciprocate. He merely has to ask for more if he wants it. What Shouto hadn’t accounted for is the unbearability of being vulnerable enough to ask. An innocent “can you hug me?” becomes so much more daunting to voice with all that longing crowded up behind it. He can’t help worrying you’ll see right through to the bottom of his desires.

A hand comes into view. Bakugo’s ash-smudged finger and thumb pinch and snap together in front of his face. “Come back to Earth, dumbass. Your thousand yard stare is scarin’ my new assistant”.

Shouto blinks out of his stupor and the blurred vignette surrounding his vision recedes. He glances at the skittish man sitting outside Bakugo’s office currently sending worried glances over his shoulder. “I think he’s more scared that you’re back,” Shouto intones dryly. “Isn’t he the fourth one this year?”

“Not my fault they’re all wimps,” Bakugo huffs. A slap reverberates around the office as he throws down a manila folder onto his desk and drops heavily into his chair. He regards Shouto with suspicion overtop his computer monitor. “Whatever you were just thinkin’ about—stop”.

“You don’t know what I’m thinking about”.

“I know you always manage to make Olympic level leaps in logic,” Bakugo rolls his eyes and tears open the folder. He slides out what Shouto assumes is a debrief and flips it between his fingers. Shouto keeps quiet. He reclines into the couch cushions and returns to reading the incident report on his lap, counting down from ten in the privacy of his mind. Anytime now.

Three, two, one.

“So what is it?” Bakugo asks, trying too hard to sound flippant but landing squarely on irritation. “Spit it out before you give yourself an aneurysm”.

Shouto opens his mouth and closes it again. A wave of hot embarrassment washes over him. He knows Bakugo will do him the kindness of being blunt and honest but it doesn’t make it any less humiliating to admit.

In their younger years Shouto saw something of a kindred spirit in Bakugo. He too did not like touch and aggressively voiced his distaste for it whenever he got the chance—which was often, because divine intervention sought fit to give him the most tactile, handsy friend group possible.

As they got older though, Shouto began to realise that the protests and threats were hollow. Despite being vehemently against affection, Bakugo would allow it anyway, and sometimes even seek it out. The aggression was bravado. Bakugo liked having his friends draped around his shoulders. He liked when Mina kissed his cheek, or Kaminari played with his hair, or Kirishima gathered him into a too-tight hug, or Sero tangled their ankles together on the couch.

Only, for him to comfortably accept it, Bakugo needed to act as though he were doing them a favour by allowing them into his space. And Bakugo’s friends played along without complaint.

From what he’s observed you are also an affectionate person. You are liberal with your warmth and adapt seamlessly to the boundaries of those around you. But you were also visibly uncomfortable whenever people took that affinity for intimacy as an open invitation, and recoiled if they encroached on your own.

Shouto has imagined reaching out only for your body to flinch away from him more times than he can count. It’s a battle staged in his head, ingrown fears. The possibility alone was enough to keep him from reciprocating, set in a state of fawn-like inertia.

“There’s somebody I want to get closer to. A friend,” he begins. Bakugo makes an inquisitive noise, props his cheek against his fist and narrows his eyes as he listens. Shouto retells the story in part, deciding to omit your name, and by the tail-end of it Bakugo’s forehead is deeply creased in dissatisfaction.

“You make all your own problems, Halfie. Y’know that?” he mutters, rubbing at the bridge of his nose and sinking back into his chair. “Fine, you don’t want to make this person uncomfortable, or whatever. If you need a hug so damn badly, why not ask Deku? Not like he’d say no”.

Knowing Bakugo would make his dilemma sound ridiculous is one thing, actually hearing it is another. “How do you know it isn’t about Midoriya,” Shouto returns petulantly.

“It ain’t Izuku or anyone else from your nerd squad,” Bakugo says, dropping his hand to drum on the desk. “I would’ve heard about it”.

“Why?”

“Because you don’t touch people. And that’s fuckin’ fine, yeah? But if you had, I know for a fact any one of them would’ve burst into tears and told everyone in a five mile radius”.

“Oh,” it leaves him a little off-kilter to hear. Shouto leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees, setting the report on the dark wood coffee table. The corner of the page is curled, and the spine is creased, and the ink annotation has smudged under his thumb. He details these things as he deliberates, the excuses cloying in his throat and thick like he might cry too.

Bakugo was right—if he craved close contact so badly, why couldn’t he go to Midoriya? He knows he would likely be met with enthusiasm.

“You don't have to tell me who. I don’t care. But you’re overthinking it,” Bakugo grunts at his lack of response, in a way that very much suggests that he cares. “Go ask. If they say ‘no’ it’s tough shit, but the world isn’t gonna end. From what you’ve told me they wouldn’t say ‘no’ anyway. Dumbass”.

Shouto nods and gives up the pretense of reading the paperwork. He feels coltish as he stands and brushes down his front, straightening the creases.

“You’re right”.

“I know”.

“Thank you, Bakugo,” he says. A small smile unfurls across his anxiety-bitten mouth. “You’re a good friend”.

“Shut up,” Bakugo grumbles. It’s a testament to his concern that he hadn’t cursed Shouto there and then. “Now get out of my office. What are you doing here in the first place? You got your own!”

“Yours gets all the sunlight. And it’s always quiet because nobody comes in here,” Shouto ignores the baleful slit of an eye Bakugo turns on him. “I’m going to take my lunch now”.

“Do what you want,” Bakugo dismisses haughtily, and Shouto smiles while thinking, not for the first time, that he’s very lucky to have friends like these.

The fidgety assistant bows as he exits and turns into the sun-drenched hallway. Warmth drapes around Shouto’s shoulders, lingering at his nape while he descends the dark stairwell where the light doesn’t reach. His boots thud against the linoleum, and he counts each footfall to keep his face neutral as his legs carry him toward your department.

Somewhere between one and one hundred and thirteen, a fraction of Shouto’s courage starts to dwindle. He grits his teeth. A hundred steps can’t be enough to dissuade him after decades of denying himself any kind of indulgence.

The further he goes into the support wing the more elaborate the layout becomes. You’re in research and development, assigned a workshop close to the quirk analysts. Heads turn as Shouto rolls through. Heroes didn’t often make personal visits to this area. If he thinks hard enough he could count a grand number of two past visits and neither of them were for you.

His stride falters when he catches sight of your nameplate. It is fixed to the wall outside your door, polished and gleaming proudly. Shouto traces the characters of your name engraved into steel before raising his hand to knock.

Your voice rings out from inside, “Come in!”

A pitched beeping sound comes from overhead. The workshop doors begin to open in a theatrical fashion, receding like curtains to reveal your space. The floor is mapped out with tape. Clear boundaries drawn between the work benches, the fume cupboards, the vault and your personal office, in an attempt at organised chaos. He might have been more interested in poking around for the first time if he had not felt on the edge of intrusion.

You’re tucked behind your curved desk surrounded by numerous monitors that dwarf your frame. Shouto furtively takes in your cute, rumpled appearance. The upper half of your coveralls have been undone to reveal an undervest, sleeves tied tight around and accentuating your waist.

“Take a seat, I’ll be with you in…” the dull tapping of practiced keystrokes comes to a stop as you notice him in the doorway. The professional veneer disappears. “Shouto?” you say, mostly to yourself. Your gaze slides beyond his shoulder, looking for whoever might be accompanying him. “Is everything okay?”

There’s a worried twist in your mouth that he wants to smudge away. A look in your eyes—a combination of warmth and weight that tugged at his being. Shouto rolls his shoulders, shaking off the tension, and moving deeper into your office. The doors close automatically behind him. “I’m okay,” he assures, taking the seat across from you.

Your expression gentles, and he likes how your gaze follows him. “I was wondering if you wanted to have lunch with me,” he continues. “But if you’re working I can head back”.

“Lunch?” you repeated. Your eyes darted to the corner of the monitor closest to you and promptly widened. “Oh, shit. When did that happen?”

An upswing of fondness catches him like a blow to the chest. His mouth quirks into a smirk. “How long have you been here?”

“Too long. I got lumped with a new project a few days ago and it’s almost done,” the monitors shut off one by one as you sheepishly press each button. Then you gave him a soft, apologetic look, “I’m sorry I’ve been so busy. Must’ve missed me if you came all the way down here”.

Dread shriked through him. The low whirring from the equipment scattered around your workspace is suddenly inordinately loud. Was he that obvious?

You, however, fail to notice Shouto’s anxiety and grab him around the wrist as you pivot the desk. “C’mon. Let’s go before the good stuff is gone,” you tell him.

Shouto had absolutely no clue what the ‘good stuff’ entailed—maybe he should’ve bothered to ask. Atleast it would take his mind off your hand. It’s wrapped around his sleeve, right where the fabric ends, loose enough for him to unshackle from if he wants. When he doesn’t protest the contact you stroke your thumb in an arc over the heel of his hand and squeeze.

Shouto falls into step, too caught up to realise you’ve taken him to the cafeteria. He expects you’ll drop his wrist in the presence of your colleagues, yet you adjust your grip and glance back at him with an encouraging tilt of your head.

“I’m starving. I think I’ll get a rice bowl. Smells pretty good today, don’t you think?”

Shouto hummed his agreement. He felt out of his depth, and he didn’t trust his voice. The spark of giddiness was doing embarrassing things to his throat. The line is mercifully short and before long he has a warm bowl of food held against his front.

“Did you want to sit in here? I can take us to one of the senior staff lounges instead if you want,” you cast a nervous look across the sparse crowd. “I mean, support engineers aren’t really gossiping types but…”

A petty part of him hoped the whispers would escalate. To have your name linked with his, to be known as a person that you cared about—he found that deeply satisfying, for reasons he couldn’t yet put his finger on.

Then again, being alone with you far eclipsed the appeal of flaunting your friendship. “The senior staff lounge sounds best,” he answers after a minute of feigned consideration. You nod, regretfully having dropped his hand, and motion for him to follow once more.

The lounge is a modest room with a kitchenette, a breakfast nook and a few bean bag chairs. It smells faintly like peeled oranges. There are post it notes and blueprints haphazardly stuck to the pinboard, covering an out of date calendar filled out in illegible scrawl. This is no shop awning. There is no rainfall to lend to the ambiance. But you are together in an enclosed space, and that is enough to make his heart beat in anticipation.

You scoot into the breakfast nook. He sits on the same side of the table and tries to subtly spread his knees enough to nudge your thigh. You side-glance in surprise but choose not to mention it. Instead you smile through your first mouthful and ask, “How've things been since I last saw you?”

Achy, like he’s used an atrophied muscle. Lonely, and frustrating beyond words. But he doesn’t say any of that. He digs crescents into his thigh through his pant leg and says, “Boring”.

“Figured that might be the case. I saw the livestream of you fighting Haywire,” you bump your shoulder against his. “The Commission probably dumped a whole load of paperwork on you, huh?”

Shouto wrinkles his nose. He hoped you hadn’t caught that fight. The pursuit of Haywire—an eco terrorist with an electrical quirk—managed to cause an unprecedented amount of damage to the city infrastructure.

“You handled it as best you could. The power grid can be fixed. What’s important is people are alive because of you,” a warm weight covers the fingers restlessly whittling at his pant leg. You pet his hand, “I’m glad you weren’t hurt”.

Guided solely by his impulses, the instant you start to draw back he envelops the top of your hand and sandwiches it between his own. He goes hot and cold all over in quick succession. Boundaries, he reminds himself. But you’re not pulling away. You’re studying him with a knowing gleam in your eye.

Shouto clears his throat. Heat pricks across his skin, concentrated in his cheekbones. “Sorry,” he says. You can ask, a memory echoes. “Is this okay?”

“You don’t have to apologise. I told you it’s fine,” you reply firmly. “I’m happy to remind you if you need to hear it”.

“No, I…” his brow furrows. “I’ve been thinking”.

“That’s not good”.

Shouto snorts and shakes his head, his amusement petering out into a shallow breath. “I want to ask. I’ve wanted to ask like you said I could,” he explains vaguely. “I’m not very good at it, I think”.

You make a soft, understanding sound that immediately sets him at ease. “I guess, after denying yourself something for so long it can be scary to let yourself have it again,” you murmur, a faraway look in your eyes. After a pensive moment the sheen fades and your laughter lines deepen, “I’ll do what I did before, then. If you look like you need a hug I’ll ask you instead”.

“In what way do I ‘look like’ I need a hug?”

“You get this—I don’t know how to explain it,” you gesture vaguely at him. “This blankness about you, but not your normal resting face, I mean you don’t seem all there. I don’t like it. I like it best when you’re happy”.

“Ah,” comes his eloquent response. Shouto drops his gaze to where your hands knot together. Every quark in his body is urging him to get closer, and remain close. “Bakugo thinks I should try to hug Midoriya, too,” he adds, oddly flustered.

“Huh. You talked to Bakugo about—? That’s a surprise. A nice surprise, I mean! Well, Midoriya does give great hugs. It would be good for you to…”

Shouto’s thoughts grow louder and he frowns down at his rice. You’re saying something about physical touch and wellness and friends. Dopamine and serotonin. It barely registers. Two truths are pinging around his skull.

You have hugged Midoriya. Of course you have. You’re friends.

You think he’s great at it.

Why is that so unsettling? Teenagers think like this. Single minded and overly emotional.

He feels the shifting of your knuckles under his palm. “Hey. You’ll need one of these back if you’re going to eat,” you say.

“Right,” he lifts his left hand and picks up his chopsticks to take a pinch of rice from his bowl. He chews until the clamouring in his mind has settled, and you patiently accept his stoic silence without explanation. Shouto hasn’t been this awkward since highschool, and even then he was too wrapped up in his familial problems to be aware of it.

“What’s the project you’ve been working on?” he eventually asks.

You take the change of topic in your stride, leaning closer and lowering your voice to an excited whisper, “I’m not supposed to tell you but—it’s for Deku’s new costume”.

“Midoriya is getting a new costume?” Shouto replies. You playfully shush him and he pouts a little.

“Don’t sulk. He doesn’t know yet either,” you poke a chopstick at the corner of his jutted mouth. “It’s my job to prepare a design portfolio and talk through everything next week. You’ll get a new one too, when you break the top five”.

“If,” he amends.

“You don’t think you’ll move up?”

“Reaching the top was never really a priority for me,” Shouto’s attention splinters, half of his focus on the conversation and the other on the sensation of your skin. He considers overturning his hand to entwine your fingers. “I just want to be the best hero I can be”.

You hum, and as if plucking the desire right from his mind, absentmindedly slip into the gaps between his fingers. Shouto steadies his breathing and takes another mouthful.

The rest of the hour passes, syrupy and slow like molasses. By the final minute Shouto’s palm is sticky and reluctant to part from yours. You usher him out from the breakfast nook first, stacking the empty bowls before directing him back toward the emptied cafeteria.

You slide the bowls along the counter for the kitchen staff to take. Then you wipe your hands down your front as you pivot to face him, thrusting out both arms as he stands frozen.

“Can I hug you?”

Shouto touches his face and you laugh.

“This is because I want one,” you clarify with a warm grin, beckoning him closer.

Shouto inhales steps into the embrace, his arms instinctively wrapping around your back. There are less layers this time—the heat of your body is overwhelming, alongside the gentle rise of goosebumps across your bare shoulders. Your breath fell gently on his collarbone, his head lowering to curl into you. He thinks, were he not born to be a hero, he must surely be born for this.

“Thank you,” you mumble, squeezing his waste a final time as you retreat. “I’ll talk to you later, yeah?”

Shouto nods. Your presence moves away like the sun being blocked out and he watches you go, departing words caught in his teeth, an incessant buzz in his fingertips. The walk back to his office is a gauzy yellow haze. Every physiological response in his body told him that he was in a free fall, despite his feet being firmly on the ground.

“Shouto!”

Shouto halts mid-step at the familiar voice. He turns to look at Izuku, at the tentative beginnings of his smile. “Izuku,” he says.

“We missed you at lunch—are you feeling alright?” Izuku asks, slightly bemused. “You look kinda… floaty,” his eyes are dark, softened in the afternoon light as they sweep over Shouto’s figure and his face.

"Izuku," Shouto said before he could convince himself otherwise, “Do you want a hug?”

The innocent question appeared to crash into Izuku with the levity of a bullet train in motion. Tears sprang to his eyes, brighter now. Shouto tenses as he is swept into a solid hug. Izuku smells like fresh air, sweat and sweet-salty broth. He holds Shouto as though trying to keep his seams from bursting; thick arms are secure around his shoulders, and a rough palm rubs broad strokes down his back, smoothing the tension until Shouto is relaxed.

You were right. Izuku does give great hugs. Shouto came away doughy, and fuller, and with the stark realisation that while touching Izuku soothed the ache, it still felt completely different to touching you.

Later, as he leaned his head against the desk surface, he sluggishly contemplated the implications of that.

[sweetmoons]

Appreciating Quackity's hard work and hoping him the best AND realizing he fucked up big time can mutually exist. Now to address some talking points

"He had his p*do brother working on the project":

This is literally all speculation and one of the past admins even said they don't think it's him. Quackity states it isn't true but says he can't speak further on the subject since its being handled with the proper authorities likely meaning the person involved in this that is a groomer has had the police contacted on them and it's now become a legal case. He can't show you proof without compromising the case and potentially putting more individuals in danger.

"Hes a big creator he should get over the doxing":

You are bat shit insane if you think this. Quackity currently lives in America a place notoriously known for deadly police force ESPECIALLY against people of color and immigrants. If he were to get swated the likelihood of him getting injured is much higher than that of a White American getting swatted which may I just say is already super high. People die during police raids very often in America.

"Fuck [the admin who first made a statement] this is all her fault"

Listen to yourself for 5 seconds you absolute bumbling idiot. Do you really think that will help this situation? She and the other admins have every right to speak out about their past experiences and hold Quackity accountable for his mistakes. I'm not even gonna say her name because of the amount of negative attention she's already getting from Twitter and I dont want people with poor intentions to seek her out. The issue comes from the mistake of leaking his information which people then weaponized against him which was NOT her intention.

"Quackity is sending his fans to harras the past admins"

You are also a fucking dumbass if you think after him speaking about the dangers of doxing and death threats he is trying to get people to dox and send death threats to the past admins. I do agree he should've made a statement asking people not to harras the past admins at the beginning of this stream. But this is different then him directly saying her name or replying directly to the tweet like some other creators have done in the past .

Conclusion: No one here is perfect. Believe it or not people make mistakes and what matters is the willingness to change and take accountability. This isn't the end of the god damn world this is a learning experience for everyone involved and an opportunity to do better in the future and in Quackitys case to mend his past mistakes. Now if it turns out that Quackity was facilitating a groomer with full knowledge of what they were doing then this situation becomes infinitely worse and should be handled accordingly, but really the only proof right now is word of mouth and some admins saying it is that person and others saying it isn't so immediately assuming that what was said on Twitter is true isn't the wisest idea.

[luminetti]

Dressed to Kill

༘⋆ Summary: In which, you, a professional cosplayer, mistake Bakugou’s hero outfit for a really good Halloween costume. ༘⋆ Pairing: bakugou katsuki x fem!reader ༘⋆Warnings: n/a, reader is just the biggest dumbass (lovingly) also, i cannot stress this enough. they are NOT CHILDREN in this. they’re both at least the age of college seniors  ༘⋆Notes: huge thanks to one of my biggest inspirations for writing in general: @andypantsx3 ! this fic is lightly inspired by—and lowkey a lovechild of—her pieces, baby are you playing tricks and unconventional, so if you somehow haven’t read those yet, i strongly recommend doing so!  also now that i actually have more than one piece of writing, id love for some writer/fandom moots! im very new to tumblr and would love friends :’)  ao3 release

Halloween was by far your favorite holiday. 

As a child, you were always drawn to Halloween, not just for the candy, but for the extravagant costumes and house decorations. Nearly every year, you stayed up late with your father, hand-sewing various details onto your costume. Finally, for your eighteenth birthday, you were gifted your very own sewing machine which officially kickstarted your interest in cosplay.

Throughout your first couple years of college, you worked on your Twitter account, posting quick mirror selfies of your various cosplay projects. Only during senior year did you finally feel comfortable enough to go out in public for your first official photoshoot.

‘Comfortable’ was a bit of a stretch. Very seldom does one feel truly comfortable when posing in front of a grandiose fountain in the middle of a public garden, fully clad in foam armor. What made it significantly worse was when the aforementioned armor looked more like a metal bikini than an actual chest plate worn into battle.

Poor character design choices aside, you loved Halloween for that very reason. With everyone dressed up–or down, for some–there was no reason to feel self-conscious during your monthly photoshoots. Sure, there was the occasional snide remark, but the number of supportive comments from passersby was enough to quiet your uncertainty.

This year you had stayed up late for the past month putting the final touches on your purple staff, even attempting an LED system that allowed parts of it to glow. It had taken two weeks to get the prototype of the dress situated since you weren’t used to sewing such a large amount of detail into your fabrics. Unfortunately, this also meant it took significantly longer to finish the outfit than expected, leaving almost no time to do your wig. But, in true cosplayer fashion, you managed to whip something together with an older purple wig, just in time for tonight.

You did, however, only realize the character also had a sword occasionally, but there was no way you were going to make that in time so the staff would have to suffice.

The night had already been proving to be one of the best so far. Starting around eight in the evening, you and some of your closest friends had gotten together for a costume party, a series of shitty horror movies, and a plethora of even shittier cheap cocktails. Despite not being much of a drinker yourself, you always participated in the annual spooky-themed cocktail charcuterie. This year you weren’t holding back. Your pride and joy charcuterie consisted of nine drinks including, but not limited to ghost-themed Aperol Spiritz–nicknamed Spirit Spiritz, Bloody Marys, and your personal favorite, Bonejitos. They even had little skeleton dudes sitting on the rim of the glass.

Unfortunately, your friends weren’t very amused by your festive drinks, even going as far to say your ingenious Bonejitos were a stretch. So, clearly they didn’t see the vision. Eventually, the party events died down as the guests began to go home, allowing the night to evolve into just drinking.

“Did you get a photo of your costume yet?” Himari, your friend from freshman year, questioned.

You shook your head, absently watching as the rest of your friends downed your masterly made Bonejitos. Liars, all of them. “‘A stretch’ my ass,” you scoffed.

Himari dug around in her bag, retrieving her camera. “Halloween photoshoot? Your fit is cute and I’m getting bored here.”

You did like the idea of photography-major level photos with none of the price involved. “I love you, Mari.”

She stuffed your spear under her arm and with that, the two of you stepped out into the cold and crisp autumn air, the breeze running over your bare shoulders and thighs. You shivered lightly, pulling up your thigh-highs and hugging the excess fabric close to your body.

Himari glanced at you in concern. “Does the Raiden Shogun not wear a jacket?”

“Unfortunately, she doesn’t.” You chuckled, rubbing your arms. “You can’t be sexy and wear a jacket,” you joked.

She hummed in sympathy, looking around for a good place to set up. The park was a particularly popular spot during Halloween, specifically known for its comforting lighting and ambience.

 “What about there?” Himari pointed to a small gazebo surrounded by violets, lit up by a string of fairy lights. There were a couple groups nearby, but otherwise it was pretty much empty.

You nodded, excited. “Good eye as always, Mari.”

She handed over your spear and offered an arm,helping you step up onto the platform and underneath the gazebo. While she adjusted the lights to her liking, you took a moment to adjust your skirt and sleeves.

“Do you think it’s too short?” you asked, tugging on the cloth. Thankfully the character wore a pair of shorts underneath, but the dress was barely miniskirt length.

Himari looked over briefly before turning back to the lights. “No, not really. Why? Are you uncomfortable?”

Before you could answer, a group of college-aged girls passed by the gazebo, clearly a bit drunk. As they left, one of the girls that was hanging onto her friend’s arm looked over. “Don’t be, girlie! You look hot as fuck!” she shouted out, words slightly slurred.

You flustered, blabbering out a quick thanks in surprise. There’s nothing like a friendly drunk girl to get your confidence up.

From behind the camera, Himari gave you a thumbs up. “Give me one of these.” She mimed leaning against the wooden banister. “Yeah like that, but with your leg more out.”

The shutter clicked several times as you did your best to recreate her gestures.

Himari proceeded to guide you through a series of poses, occasionally having you incorporate your staff or the gazebo. Eventually you got used to the flashing camera and allowed yourself to melt into the character, embodying her essence as best as you could.

Time flew and before you knew it, Himari was calling you down from the gazebo to look over the photos. You hovered over her shoulder as she flipped through each one, pausing at her favorites.

“I’ll import these onto my laptop and send them back edited sometime this week,” she told you, removing her glasses and wiping them off with her sleeve.

You nodded. “Thanks for doing this, you really didn’t have to.” You rummaged through your bag, hoping to find at least a little money for her efforts. Feeling a couple bills between your fingers, you held them out to her.

Himari’s eyes squinted and you realized she was staring over your shoulder. “I think that guy in costume was looking at you,” she said, still cleaning off the lenses.

You turned to see a tall man across the park, large grenade shaped gauntlets resting on both his arms. He quickly looked away once he saw your head turn. Looking closer, you realized he was dressed in a dark black sleeveless jumpsuit with orange and green straps along his body.

He was clearly a Dynamight cosplayer. And by the looks of it, a really talented one at that.

You were almost convinced that he had real hero equipment on. His armor pieces were strikingly accurate, and you made a mental note to look for more realistic prop materials.

“He probably spent a lot of time on that,” you mused to Himari, who had already gone back to inspecting the photos.

“You should go ask him about it.” she suggested, collecting the rest of her things and zipping her bag. “I’ve gotta catch an Uber soon.”

Maybe it was the lingering confidence gifted by the girl from earlier, but you managed to muster up enough self-assurance to wave goodbye to Himari and stride right up to the cosplayer.

As you got closer, you realized just how much work must have gone into all the details. The gauntlets–a very convincing metal–had several dents and scratches, giving it a worn down look, as if it had been used frequently.

His hair looked far too real to be a wig, likely just being his natural hair with lots of product in it. The most impressive detail by far was his physique. Had he trained specifically for this? The closer you got the more you noticed. If you were lucky, maybe he’d give you the name of his supplier.

“I love your outfit!” You smiled cheerily at him.

He turned to look at you, slightly taken aback. “Thanks?” he replied, folding his arms as he looked you over, eyes lingering on your cosplay.

You felt a twinge of anxiety as he inspected your outfit. He probably just didn’t recognize the character, you convinced yourself.

“I’m a cosplayer too,” you clarified, gesturing to your dress. “But clearly not as dedicated as you.”

You watched as his chest puffed lightly at the compliment, though he titled his head, a bit puzzled.

Clearing your throat awkwardly, you tried a different method. “How long did it take to make?”

He blinked at you and shrugged. “Dunno. Maybe a couple of months? I just told them what I wanted.”

Oh, you got it now. He’s just a model. It wasn’t uncommon for people to collaborate on cosplays, especially ones where one person either commissions or buys a cosplay from an artist, and then models it themself. Either way, he was still one of the best you’ve seen.

You nodded in understanding. “Do you have social media? I’d love to see what else you’ve done.” Pulling out your phone, you loaded up your Twitter, preparing to enter his tag.

“Dynamight Official. All one word,” he replied hesitantly, looking you up and down as if he was scanning for signs of sickness.

You chuckled faintly. He was really dedicated to his role. “Well, what's your name? I follow a lot of cosplayers already. Maybe I’ve seen you?” You pulled up your profile and turned the screen around to show him in case he recognized your tag.

His arms unfolded and his face slowly morphed from confused to exceptionally amused. “Bakugou Katsuki. I am Dynamight.”

Waving him off absently, you nodded as you scrolled through your followed accounts. You swear you’ve seen him online before. “Sorry, I’m not really good at roleplay. But you’re pretty convincing.”

He leaned against the cold metal lamppost, watching you sift through various Twitter accounts. You sneaked a glance to check his facial features again, but he was already staring straight back at you.

In such close capacity, his striking crimson eyes stood out to you. Even his contacts were high quality… Fighting back the warmth that threatened your cheeks and ears, you averted your gaze downwards.

Your eyes flicked to his waist. You hadn’t noticed it before, but a thick black bomber jacket was tied tightly around his torso, unlike the real hero’s costume. Well, you stand corrected. You certainly can be sexy with a jacket.

Speaking of jackets, you had been so caught up in conversation you hadn’t realized how cold it had gotten. The soft breeze from earlier had picked up into chilly wind, rustling the fabric of your dress as it blew by.

Bakufaux–haha–seemed to notice your interest in his jacket, untying it and tossing it over your shoulders. “Bit cold for you, Princess?” he drawled. “D’nno how you’ve managed in that outfit.” He gestured to your short dress and tall socks.

You couldn’t help but notice how his gaze lingered on you for a half second longer than normal. Not that you would’ve said anything. Thanks to his jacket, you were enveloped with warm and musky scents of charcoal and sandalwood. Though, being honest with yourself, you’ve been distracted ever since you walked over.

You snapped out of your trance when he pushed himself off the lamppost and leaned over you. It could’ve been twenty degrees out and you’d still swear you were overheating.

“Ever considered cosplaying in my costume?” He asked, watching your darkening cheeks closely.

Maybe it was the shit eating grin he wore proudly on his face, or the sneaking suspicion in your gut, but you had an inkling of a feeling he knew something you didn’t. In a surge of confidence and curiosity, or perhaps just pure adrenaline, you took a step forward.

“And if I have?”

Something snapped behind his eyes and you could’ve sworn his gaze dropped to your lips. He might’ve actually kissed you if you weren’t interrupted by the sound of glass shattering and the screams of customers inside a late night coffee shop.

You felt your heart rate increase as he swore under his breath, whatever smug expression he previously had was replaced by something far more intense and serious.

‘“I’m not leaving you out here alone, stay close to me,” he urged, taking one last look at you before turning and running towards the sound.

It took you a second to realize you were running behind him as fast as possible.

As the two of you neared the coffee shop, you noticed numerous shards of glass laid out on the concrete. On a second glance, you noticed some of the smaller shards were beginning to melt, turning the ground slightly slick.

You halted to a stop, almost crashing into your new friend. You felt a warm hand snake around your waist, lifting your body off the ground and onto a nearby bench.

“Don’t touch the ground, and stay right here,” he told you sternly, before turning and rushing straight into the cafe.

You watched, frozen in astonishment, only able to hear the horrific sounds of glass and… explosions? Occasionally you caught a glimpse of blonde hair, dropping off a poor customer caught in the crossfire, before dashing straight back inside. In what felt like seconds, he had already retrieved nearly every patron from the cafe, all while the villain was still inside.

Quickening footsteps approached from behind your place on the bench. You barely had a chance to comprehend the noises when a flash of red zipped past you, making a beeline straight for the cafe. Only after several trips in and out of the building did you finally recognize the eccentric costume of Pro-Hero Red Riot as he gathered the remainder of the victims outside.

Through the ringing in your ears you could only vaguely make out shouting between Red Riot and someone else still inside the building. It was all intelligible until he turned to you and the victims. The last words you heard was look away, or at least you assumed.

You weren’t interested in waiting around to find out so you shut your eyes tight and turned away from the scene as best as you could.

At first nothing happened. But after a beat, you felt your eyes burn behind your eyelids as a blistering wave of heat surrounded you. You think you screamed, but you weren’t entirely sure. Every muscle in your body tensed as the bench shook underneath you, threatening to break.

But as quickly as it came, it passed. You couldn’t tell how long you had been trapped in that position, clutching your knees to your chest with your eyes sealed shut. A warm hand shook you out of position, jostling your eyes open.

When your eyes finally adjusted, blocking your vision of the cafe was none other than a tall silhouette, and familiar red eyes.

“Hey, stay with me, Princess. You hurt?”

You felt calloused hands hastily press against your body, examining you for injury. He took a hold of your ankle, easing you into extending. “Anything?”

Shaking your head, you gripped onto him as he lifted you from the bench to your feet, steadying you with strong arms.

“Happy Halloween,” you managed to mutter meekly into his chest.

You felt him shudder beneath your head as he laughed, surprisingly heartily.

“Certainly one you’ll remember.” His low voice resonated in your brain, calming whatever nerves were remaining. “Let’s get you home, m’kay?”

You let him navigate you back to your apartment surprisingly deftly given your shaky directions, until finally you found yourself thanking him at your doorstep and shutting the door behind you.

Now that you were home and given a chance to breathe, you weren’t sure what was real. Everything mixed together in a blur and you couldn’t tell if it was all a dream or not.

As you groggily slumped against your bed, you felt something soft bundle against your back. Sitting up, you reached behind your back to feel the cool fabric of the black jacket you had been holding tightly against yourself. Embroidered on the sleeve were a pair of initials you hadn’t noticed before.

B.K.

With a strange pounding in your chest, you pulled out your phone.

Sure enough, you had one new notification.

@DynamightOfficial followed you back

The device buzzed in your hand with a second notification. A direct message request alongside an image. Swiping to your messages, you opened the text from your new follower.

Front and center was a quick photo of Bakugou’s hero costume, laid out neatly on his bed. Directly underneath the image were two small text bubbles.

u take commissions?

ive got something in mind for ya

[important-question-anon]

here's this ask in a post bcs tumblr's dumbass couldnt process it in the ask

i'll do you one better, I'll do one for all the blogs i can remember

@totally-bing 's kill count is higher than his body count

@the-real-google collects niche items(stamps, trading cards, etc)

@operagxreal is the most pretentious when it comes to taking care of their hair

@incognito-mode-official practices pickup lines in the mirror

@definitely-wikipedia has picnics with it's human friend

@duothelingo 's favorite drink is most likely anything that orange(okay maybe im projecting here)

@subway-offical is a beast when it comes to making s'mores

@firehouse-subs-fr likes beetles and such

@the-one-and-only-duckduckgo is actually a world-class chef

@yes-im-youtube-kids holds a lemonade stand every summer without fail

@mcgeese is a fencing master

@definitely-spirit-halloween celebrates halloween in the middle of may

@official-dairy-queen loves to write in his spare time

@officialtinder always smells like passionfruit

@the-real-honda likes to pull up to the local fast food place and flex on all the poor people

@im-pandora-i-promise dries and presses flowers

@im-the-real-roblox-i-swear has probably 2,000 hours on roblox

@hot-topic-unofficial and @claires-unofficial play wobbledogs together

@official-fedex and @totally-ikea make little robot inventions together. in fact, they made subway's little robot buddies!

@bingle-official is learning French

@big-mayo-official has a collection of mayo jars hidden in a closet

@the-true-internet-explorer and @microsoft-edge-official (i think thats the right one) are two old best friends who reminisce of their younger days

@yandex-search-fr travels back home to russia and brings back treats for the rest of the mansion monthly

@nasa-real and @barnes-and-noble-official map the stars together

@real-sephora has cooties

@realsafari cosplays in his free time

@pizza-hut-official and @pinterest-real exchange photos of their travels

@samsung-music-official and @spotify-official make their own music and send it to each other for feedback

@centers-for-disease-control does chores around the mansion every day to make sure no germs are there. duckduckgo and mcgeese help them out

@definitely-tor-browser-official likes raisin cookies over chocolate chip(based)

@undeniably-chevron and @speedway-official-unofficial are married and have a secret mafia wing in their family

@the-us-navy-offical tried to make sure everyone's sheets were done military style. needless to say it didn't last very long

@shakespeare-official-account and @definitely-canada are best friends

more in part 2 because tumblr cant save my long ass post

[breath-of-fresh-grantaire]

HELP A DUMBASS DISABLED AUTISTIC TRANS PERSON GET OUT OF SURPRISE DEBT??????

hi guys merry christmas I'M IN DEBT WOOHOO!!!!!! my account got overdrawn with some rnadom charges and the fees stacked!!! i won't be able to afford rent next week even when i get paid because there's still more coming out!!!

i will draw/write* almost anything. plkease fucking consider supporting me i hate asking for help but i'm kinda SCARED lol!! i also need to pick my meds up in a week :')))

even a dollar or two helps a lot

Please Support Me Here!!!!

ART/WRITING EXAMPLES BELOW THE CUT

*Right now I can only really say I write Les Mis but being an autistic I have my fair share of fandoms. Please just ask!

[almacambiondaughterofsaleos]

Vivziepoop's Dicksuckers Lack Any Self-Awareness

They say this while in the series anyone that goes against her fan favorite characters are one dimensional hate sink characters like Striker and Stella. Also so far she's depicted heaven as just full of hypocrites and paints Adam (who is supposed to be the first human but turned into an angel for some reason) as a strawman sexist who has all his exorcists named after sexist names for women. A lot of these dumbasses downplay why sinning can be detrimental this just comes from a group of people who want to do the I'm not perfect card to shield the fact that they are horrible people who need to check themselves.

They call it strict morality when so far Vivziepoop acts like a pos to people around her and hates the fact anyone tells her she's a horrible person. Anyone who says that morality is a spectrum are often times people who want to usually hide the fact that they want to get away being pos. They want to call out self-righteousness right after their precious waifu tried to sic people on anyone who dared question her or in the case of Tracey Butler reject her so-called offering. Seriously, these people might think righteousness is strict, while having their own standard of it and lack any self-awareness about it.

Again these dumbasses forget why people are questioning all of this because of the fact that this hell already showed the worst still go there like Epstein and Hitler. They might try to depict it as heaven being too strict, but in my opinion it's full of people who delude themselves into thinking they are good people and they deserve to be in heaven despite not earning it. So they have to project it's the other side that is thinking in black and white when in reality it's because they don't want to change themselves so they could earn their way to be seen as good people.

Seriously, I will never get over that their interpretation of sins actually advocate for consent and not overindulging this just shows again they don't understand shit and it shouldn't be in hell. And again this is just to validate themselves. It's why we have the narrative always excuse Stolas for stuff and not hold him accountable because they don't think it's a case of right/wrong but what makes him happy damn anyone else's opinions in the matter. Again if it's really about control over human nature then you guys really don't understand shit about self-refection.

[fallout-fucker]

Sole Survivor Headcanon

Kind of OC based but it's also vague (Although Minutemen leaning) so like. If your Sole wasn't a soldier or lawyer. Or anything. Just a skill-less bastard. You might like this. Enjoy.

Sole being trusted by so many factions just for breathing is so funny actually. Like they deadass crawl out of a cave, freshly traumatised, and told they're a General? Because they helped someone? Cool, yeah, sure, uh-huh. That's a great amount of pressure to handle on top of their circumstances.

I like to think that everyone also assumes they're insanely clever. It's not that Sole isn't, per se, but everyone treats them like a genius. A prodigy. People have told Sole they understand why Preston trusted them so much because the Commonwealth 'needs their level of knowledge and intelligence to get better'. To which Sole is always bewildered, because their 'extensive level of knowledge' is just. High school level. Basic science lessons.

They know about evolution and stem cells and stuff. They know how disease and antibodies work. They're praised for changing people's opinions on vaccination when, with the help of Curie, they start a campaign to bring back vaccines. Their goal was to fight the viruses that had been brought back from near extinction from 200+ years of no healthcare system, no scientists and doctors to cure them. A tilt back in the direction of accessible Pre-War healthcare.

Sole knows history. They know what to watch out for, how to spot tension between factions. They know how to avoid more war, lessons learned from textbooks and late nights with post-it notes. They know how to piece together a scale and pin point the tipping point to stop it before shit goes down because they did a project about it on a WW1 assignment. The Great War. The irony is not lost on Sole when they contemplate that name for too long.

They're decent at Maths. Decent enough to make sure the caps and donations to the Minutemen are being put to good use. To make sure the book keeping is up to code and every cap is accounted for, and what it should be put towards. Like trying to bring back vaccines from 200 years ago. Negotiating with Vault 81 to let Curie use the old lab there goes way more smoothly when they've got the caps to make a worthy case for the cause.

Sole knows why people assume their mind is unmatched, though. In a way it is, sort of, they suppose. Since education is rare in the Post-War world, and even then it's not at the level it was Pre-War, Sole just seems smart. Everyone thinks they are.

Sole never knows how to handle it.

Are they complicit for letting people believe they're a genius? Should they keep up the charade so people listen to them? The thought keeps them up at night. Preston laughs at them for it.

MacCready reminds them of the many times they looked like a dumbass in every other circumstance where they lacked knowledge. 210 years of missing out on General Wolrd Stuff will do that to ya. It's not necessarily their fault, but he still likes to drag them for the time they got food poisoning because they didn't realise some of the new plants had to be cooked before consumption.

Every time someone acts in awe of Sole's intelligence, MacCready snickers because he was there in the early days. Sole had hired him to watch their back. Soon enough he became their mentor on how to shoot a gun properly. How to maintain it. What to eat, what not to eat, what to definetly not eat. How to make sure mole rat meat is 100% cooked. How to safely remove as much radiation as possible from water and food when you have only basic supplies. He would never think Sole is stupid. They know a lot compared to most people, but learning how to survive and knowing how to count are very different types of knowledge. No, he'd never think they're stupid. But he definetly humbles them, which Sole is actually happy about. He still affectionately calls them an idiot and reminds them of the time they tripped over their own laces, alerting the radstag they were hunting of their presence. And the food poisoning thing. And the incident with the bucket. And when they almost touched a deadly plant because they thought it would look nice in a vase they found.

Thing is, Preston taught them basics of how to shoot and fight before they left Sanctuary. MacCready picked up the workload when he met Sole and realised they'd likely get them both killed if he didn't. Cait showed them hand to hand combat and lockpicking. Everyone at some point taught Sole something. So Sole goes red from embarrassment when being complimented on their mind, because they know they're gonna get an earful from their friends later. Affectionately bullied. You know Deacon has some blackmail level information from the months he followed them. They all sit at Sole's kitchen counter and share stories of Sole's embarrassing misadventures over breakfast. That's just what a family does.

[zapperona]

Hey so umm were can u find Suzerainty?? (IDK IF I SPELLED THAT RIGHT) idk the account my dumbass doesn't know anything so uhh I don't know it sounds interesting though IS IT REAL? DID I GET FOOLED?? Is it bunnydoll IDK HELP I searched it up and I saw nothing HELP please tell me were to find this Suzerintantanfeefifofumilovetodrinkrumy thing PLEASE Byeeee! - from really dumb person🤌

Haha don't worry about it! I gotchu~

[lollystocks]

Intro to Sigils (Undead Abjuration 101)

Ectoberhaunt 2023 Day 10: Occultism

Summary: The student population of Danny's new college are very, very into the occult, putting Danny's studies (and blood pressure) in jeopardy. Good thing he knows exactly how to jeopardise their efforts.

Or: how Danny finally gains some overdue respect.

Words: 1,121

CW: blood (ritualistic), occultism, off-screen violence

___

People are dumbasses. Dead or alive.

This philosophy of Danny’s is reinforced tenfold when he starts college. “Fuck Around and Find Out” is a fine way to live when the consequences of said Finding Out are mild - grievous injury or arrest, for instance.

But with his typical luck, his fellow students at university (go bobcats) have decided that they’re going to lightly Fuck Around with the occult, and it’s up to Danny to stop them from Finding Out.

Ordinarily, students messing around with summoning circles and ouija boards is nothing to worry about on two accounts: (1) most occultism you find online is total bullcrap and you’d be lucky to summon a grumpy blob-ghost and (2), being more than a stone’s throw from a dimensional Veil or Tear means your word-perfect ritual ain’t gonna do shit.

Danny himself is not exempt from the “people are dumbasses” rule, because Danny had not done adequate research during college applications, and had failed to realize that Athens, Ohio, was sat on top of one of the thinnest stretches of dimensional membrane outside of his parents’ basement.

A good stretch of his freshman year is spent trying to subtly dissuade others in his hall from having anything to do with the new trend, so harmless elsewhere in the country. When that fails (“Danny my guy it’s a bit of drunk fun, ghosts don’t exist” God he missed Amity), it becomes straight sabotage. Swapping the thyme out for sage; salting some of the badger-blood (where had that even come from?); smudging some carefully-drawn chalk.

On the rare occasions where such intervention is necessary (see above: most online occultism is bullshit), Danny honestly needn’t bother. No one has the time for three days of silent prayer, or has the inclination to acquire a tooth from every participant, and as a general rule the easier the ritual, the weaker the ghostie. The main risk is that something small is conjured, or something a bit more powerful is able to project their voice or image into this plane and no more. Honestly, not particularly dangerous in itself.

But if one ritual works, and gets recorded, and posted to TikTok or something, all hell would break loose and everyone would get in on it and something nasty would be summoned and everyone would die.

So Danny has to keep a very. tight. lid. on every bit of occultism on campus.

It’s not going so well, and at one point Danny is spending his nights invisible and patrolling the whole campus (the whole goddamn town) for ritual behavior, much the same way he patrolled for malevolent spirits at night as a kid. It’s exhausting.

At one point, the worst comes to pass, and it’s somehow a blessing. He manages to miss something, and a Being is conjured. Someone gets hurt, badly, but they’ll recover, and most importantly - everyone believes now. Which is just as well, because the thin Veil is now a Tear, and Danny’s (lovely, peaceful, escapist) college is now overrun with spirits.The more things change, etc.

Now, Danny has never painted himself as a cynic, rather as a true believer who insisted that no one with sense should be touching these things. The few other true believers listened to him because of the deeply haunted look in his eyes that said “trust me, I know”, and others would have listened if it weren’t for the fact that ghosts don’t exist so that look in his eyes meant nothing, right?

So after The Incident, students are rushing to Danny. No one wants to Fuck Around anymore, what they want now is protection.

Danny becomes a mobile consultation service on How Not To Get Got by spirits. He has info that doesn’t appear anywhere else, be it on the internet or in dusty tomes, but everyone believes him.

“Basic chalk sigils for your dorm door - unless it’s east-facing or on a fourth floor, then use this one instead. Oh and you’ll want this extra symbol if/when you’re on your period, don’t ask why.”

“Salt doesn’t do shit to protect you other than change the function of other charms, it actually attracts poltergeists…”

“If you’re gonna get that tattooed, for the love of god get it on the left side of your back, I’m not dealing with the consequences of you messing that up.”

“Look the Latin itself is fine but it’s not actually the most powerful language for temporary wardings like these, better to go for something like Welsh or Cornish, or Yucatec, even Esperanto…”

“I absolutely refuse to “sign off” on your bullshit blood sigils Phil, you losing your dorm deposit is gonna have nothing to do with me and I want that on the record.”

And it works. No one (openly) questions where this knowledge, this expertise is coming from, because Danny is a gift horse and no one wants to inspect that mouth, thanks. He doesn’t charge for his services, but he sets up a little fund online and is able to fuel his coffee addiction with it. He never has to pay for booze, and people will slip him test answers before he can even ask. He’s practically swimming in upperclassmen’s used textbooks, left anonymously at his door.

Knowledge spreads fast (he wonders how much better he could have protected Amity had he had this level of respect then; or maybe it was his parents who ensured that could never happen, turning the town away from these methods and trying to fit a science-based solution into a magic-shaped hole) and eventually, Danny stops being the only point of knowledge.

By the time sophomore year rolls around, there’s a rhythm to it. Someone sets up a whatsapp group. Dorms are left with the previous inhabitants’ sigils intact ready for the new tenants (and the cleaners never report them to management). Freshman orientation includes informal lectures from upperclassmen on how to protect yourself and others from the undead.

By Danny’s junior year, there’s a (locked, invite-only) wiki full of protective rituals, rites, spells and symbols. Freshmen already know what’s coming, if they do their research. Graduating seniors auction off their amulets.

Things have settled pretty nicely by senior year. Danny’s on top of his studies, as well-rested as any other student (ie not at all) and he rarely has to go ghost. He needn’t have worried about spreading occult knowledge to the student population after all; they’d shown they can be trusted.

(And Danny almost gets away with it. But three months before graduation, he is violently and painfully jerked into a sideways pocket-dimension by what he recognises as an utterly perfect Summoning. Because Danny is also a dumbass, as he is about to Find Out.)

[peterfankoffski]

"Time Travel's For Nerds"

Chapter 9: Peter Spankoffski vs The Watcher With One Thousand Eyes

Summary: Peter Spankoffski goes head to head with The Watcher With One Thousand Eyes to maintain and restore peace to the timeline.

@vesperione happy five year anniversary to your account. Everyone congratulate them

Read it on AO3!

Tag list under the cut! (Send ask to be added/removed)

@xolborsaysstuff @nonbino-chaos-fox @most-certainly-not-lennard @hotchocolateboy @jaz-it-up @livestock-and-bibles @arcadecarpetgay @ace-fandom-dumbass

[bonojour]

gimme some random fun facts about russell !!

most of these are going to be young russell because he was. an idiot.

i think my fave is that he chipped his tooth when he was 10 playing rugby, and that he never considered to get it fixed. even arguing that he "shouldn't" need to fix his tooth to get roles. and then the director of 'the crossing' had to sit him down like. this character does not have a fucked up tooth. i do not want you to have this fucked up tooth. i am going to pay for your fucked up tooth to get fixed from my own pocket. it is peak dumbass russell moments. (and he mentioned that after he got his tooth fixed it was A Lot easier to get roles. my man. my dude.)

i also love how silly and dedicated he is to his roles, and that for the sum of us he'd go to bars in the sydney gay scene.... so much so that some people were discussing his sexuality when his girlfriend was in ear shot. 😭

he was fired. for using naughty words. at his gig as a bingo host.

he was actually seriously considering being a musician for someone (thankfully) told him that he should try acting. nowadays he refers to russ le roq (his teen music project) as "the worst performing single in NZ history"

when they were shooting la confidential he stayed in a tiny apartment so he'd feel bigger. 😭 (but tbh they were also trying to squeeze him out of that movie role, so maybe he simply couldn't afford bigger too <3)

i think it's important to remind people of his theatre kid days

speaking of theatre... when he played in rocky horror he dealt with a heckler by saying "if you squirt me one more time with your water pistol, I shall come off this stage and I shall jam my stiletto in the crack of your ass.” which is the greatest sentence he's ever formed, probably

the story he told during is igp concerts last summer about him living in sydney & busking to earn his rent. and sometimes having to choose between food and cigarettes. my bank account can relate

this entire quote: "just yelling and screaming and waving a gun around doth not a bad guy maketh. you have to have something in the ideology or the essential motivations of the character that take it beyond the average. but that is the same of both protagonists and villain, heroes and bad boys, or bad girls. but i haven’t been asked to play a bad girl lately."

i love how he always tries to figure out a way to bond with cast members. during les mis he'd invite people for sing-alongs, the whole master & commander thing with the t-shirts, always giving cast and crew merch from his band/rugby team, taking people to places. he's so often praised by cast members for this <3

[deityoftherain]

Hello there :D

Welcome to my tumblr! I go by Rain (Deity works too) and I usually use they/them pronouns. I am a young adult and my timezone is ET. I do not tag reblogs often and they aren't tagged with anything specific. If you would like to look at what I have written, I have started to use the hashtag #deity writes as a way to organize it all better. You can also look below the cut for direct links to all of my writing! I am going to use #rain answers for anything posted through the ask function whenever I get them too- just for organization’s sake! Feel free to send me asks ^^

This account is mostly for mcyt fanart reblogs and random thoughts, but I am also a fanfiction writer! My ao3 is deityoftherain! I post chapter updates here so you can follow me on Tumblr and/or AO3 to get notified. I consider myself to chill in the PG-13/TV-14 rating though I write for both "General Audience" and "Teen And Up Audiences"- make sure to mind the tags!

If you enjoy my content, please interact! I love comments (I read all of them and respond to most of them) and I appreciate kudos/notes dearly. If you want to add my work to collections of works under a theme, don't be scared to! I'll accept the request. Just do not repost any of my works! Reblogs are loved (especially if you add little comments on them) and, if you want to draw art or whatever other creative work based on my fics (that would be really fucking cool if you did :O but no pressure obviously), PLEASE let me know about it and tag me so I can see it!!! I will reblog them with my #deity writes tag so people can see it when looking at my works too because I want to show it off ^^

If you would like to chat, feel free to DM me here or Discord- just make sure to tell me who you are, where you found me from, and why you are messaging me. I dislike it when strangers message me without a reason for it or without something to say. It is unsettling to me but I do greatly enjoy chatting with people. I don't think I am scary so don't be anxious if you want to reach out! My discord username is the same as my username here :D

Above has all my my ao3 works! Below are most of my fanfics posted on Tumblr. It will take you to a post with the fic's summary and basic information. From there, you can decide to route yourself to the fic on ao3 or there will be a link to take you to its post on my Tumblr.

Discord Server Invite: https://discord.gg/xMQN5XWeHr

Listed in alphabetical order because why not :D

Traffic Life/Life Series Fanfics dream killer crochet & cuddles empty home* festivals and ferris wheels* healing flowers* honeybees, i'm home* isn't that jimmy's hat?* know that all my love will be your breath scott, you're drunk save a spot for me* the boogey* the canary broke his curse now that you've won post-concert highs

Empires SMP Fanfics all is fair in love and war* blood is thicker than blood* i really missed you, dumbass i'm just me* isn't that jimmy's hat?* looking in the mirror* (not) a boy in a princess dress* silver wounds soulbound enmity, spare me dignity strangers to fighting buddies* strawberry tears* the cold is nothing compared to your warmth water & art

Hermitcraft SMP Fanfics i don't want to be friends isn't that jimmy's hat?* (not) a boy in a princess dress* save a spot for me*

* uncolored astrick'ed ones are tagged with multiple SMPs/fandoms tales of the empires ^ click on this if you want to view the collection with all my fics within my empires s1 canon divergent au; each fic can be read separately* traffic life superpowers au ^ click on this if you want to view the collection with all my fics within my life series superpowers au; each fic can be read separately*

Misc Fanfics New Life SMP: sparrow and his teleporter friend

Extra: I have written other mcyt fics as well as for Sanders Sides (and one for The Owl House) but those are a bit older (and I believe am better than I was) so I have not listed them here! You can still read those on my ao3 or my fanfic Tumblr (it is all listed on the pinned post) if you would like!

I’m hiding this all the way at the bottom so it’s a no-pressure type thing and I don’t see anyone actually tipping me even if they do see this but if you want to, my cashapp is $DeityoftheRain ^^

I also have a side blog if you are a Tumblr fanfic reader (and/or want some extra information), but a lot of things broke on me so I have abandoned it as of April 4, 2024. If you want me to post my fanfics on Tumblr or something, let me know via asks or something.

[bucketinyourwalls]

2!Postal Dude Headcanons <3

Summary:

With this version of 2!Postal Dude consists of a mix of my own projections, random stuff I thought of whenever bored, and just how I generally see him. Based on my first run with him, and a mix of the wiki. Anyone that wants to add these to their own lists feel free! :D

General:

Goofy as hell. Still just as insane as the others, but takes it all less seriously.

Either has a list or small journal he carries on him all the time just filled with one-liners, also carries a pen so he can write down any new ones he thinks of.

Fucking dumbass.

Not the smartest guy around, but also not the dumbest. Decent knowledge with some things.

Sometimes pretends to be a full on moron just to annoy the person, or piss them off depending on if it's someone he likes or hates.

Knowledgeable in some subjects, but only if it’s something he has a genuine interest in.

Random hyperfixation on things. Tries to keep himself focused on one or two things at a time and tries to balance everything out, but always fails.

Favorite aesthetics consist of cyberpunk, post-apocalyptic, feralcore, bastardcore, and post-punk.

Feral bastard.

Bites people. Started out as a joke but was slowly integrated into his life.

Humor’s all over the damn place. Mix of whatever he can find on Tumblr and shows like South Park and Beavis and Butthead.

Has a Tumblr and Twitter account. Both just so he can watch everything unfold and doesn’t bother to post anything.

Following list for Twitter mostly consists of gimmick accounts, some of it wholesome, and others being shit he just decided was funny.

Personality built around others' perception of him, whether people he actually knows or just those on the internet. 

Personality changes often, but keeps certain aspects for each one.

Bit of a people pleaser.

Mood is always randomized for each day. One day he could be the most calm and patient man in Paradise, and the next he could go on a massacre.

Mood really depends on his morning. Slight inconveniences do have the potential to fuck it all up if there was a major one before, but not on their own.

Very patient with people when younger, but that patience has slowly degraded over the years.

Would never snap at anyone when younger, maybe a few passive aggressive comments.

But now with the degraded patience, much more prone to snapping at people.

Animal lover. Always making sure Champ gets pets and food before he goes off to do his errands and will do his best to take care of strays.

After the beginning cutscene near the start of the game with him kicking Champ for pissing in front of him felt a fuck ton of guilt for the rest of the day. After he got home made sure to do his best to make it up to Champ through whatever means necessary.

Type of video games that he plays is a healthy mix of horror such as Silent Hill and Resident Evil, indie games like Cult of the Lamb and Hollow Knight, and of course shooter games like DOOM and the Call of Duty series.

For Cult of the Lamb he definitely named the cult after himself. Once tried to mod the game himself to add in or replace the decorations to better fit himself but that never ended up happening.

Just about grew up with horror. During highschool he had a fake ID so he could see the Rated R movies without having to bring an adult with him, or would just sneak in (and get caught).

Holds the DOOM series close to his crack-filled heart, with his favorite being the 1993 DOOM as a mix of nostalgia and everything that could be done. Always discovering new secrets on every playthrough.

Probably plays Call of Duty a bit less than the others, and mostly consists of him playing online and just insulting everyone since it’s fun to see their reactions. Barely pays attention to any of the campaigns.

Bisexual and Pangender <3

Age being 27 during the events of Postal 2 (no clue if he has a canon age so for the time being I’m sticking to that).

Music:

Mostly metal and rock.

Korn, Avenged Sevenfold, Rob Zombie, Dope, Limp Bizkit, Skillet, Seether, Slayer, etc.

Favorite songs with them consisting of: “Y’all Want a Single?” by Korn, “Rollin (Air Raid Vehicle” by Limp Bizkit, and “6 Gun Quota” by Seether.

Also has a few other songs in there that seem much out of place, either because he thought it’d be funny or just from him genuinely enjoying them.

Few examples being the “Bisexual Anthem” by Domo Wilson, “Material Girl” by Saucy Santana, “Masquerade” by siouxxie sixxta, ect.

Sings in the shower, most of the time keeps it quiet but will sing loudly as hell just to drive people crazy.

Cannot be trusted with the aux cord.

God help you if you’re on a road trip and he gets a hold of the cord.

Credits:

Credit for both dividers go to @kawaii-lau, after a bit of scrolling finding some dividers saw that they had some cool stuff, so check them out! <3

[sevikasleftpussyflap]

Hi can you do sevika with a reader who has a skin picking issue? I pick at my fingers till it bleeds cause of anxiety

I do too! Was literally doing it as I wrote this lol

Here, have a hug, from one anxious picker to another

Sevika obviously wouldn’t like anything that involves your discomfort or harm, and she’d be very vocal about her disapproval

“Stop that.” You blinked, stunned at the harsh words of Sevika that came out of nowhere in the middle of her run down of tomorrow’s mission. They were directed at you, if the nervous glances of the other members said anything. “Huh?” You blurted, eloquent as always.  Sevika looked miffed at the interruption and cut you a glare so harsh you could’ve cried if you weren’t so confused. “Your hands.” The words were spoken slow enough to where you could hear the unspoken, but heavily implied ‘dumbass’.  A glance down revealed the supposed offender, a bleeding nail bed surrounded by raw, peeled skin. Shit. It would be stinging for a while, but you guessed it was unavoidable in a social setting such as this. But, for real, why did it matter to her? It’s not like it was disrupting her hard-ass delivery of her orders, heavy on the ‘you screw up, I’m breaking a finger.”  Was she… fussing over you?

Naturally, you want to see how far you can push her. So you’re chewing your nails, picking and ripping at them whenever she’s around. She’d snatch your hand and hold it to get you to stop. And I mean snatch, like how she did that damn clipboard in that one episode. She would be mothering you, but she’s not going to be happy about it, and she’d nag you about taking care of your body (infections and whatnot are easy to come by in Zaun)

Testing the waters, your fingers drift closer to your awaiting teeth, ready to rip off a particularly bothersome hangnail.  A hand closes around your wrist at lightning speed, all but snatching it into her grasp. Her display of … caring? Is that what this is? It’s so brutal yet sincere that you smile at her irritation towards your carelessness. “C’mon, Sev. It’s just skin.” There’s an airy, giddy sort of laugh in your words that the tightening of her hand can’t diminish. “You’re bleeding. Y’know how easy it is to get sepsis down here?” The sight of her stomping down the hall, holding your hand and lecturing you about infection is so stupidly funny you laugh.

Her harsh words wouldn’t be enough to deter you, and now you’re doing it to get a rise out of her. So now she’d start with the more logical steps. Bandages, gloves, anything that prevents you from tearing open your skin and sticking your grimy little fingers into that bacteria-filled mouth

You’re sitting in Sevika’s chair, eyes scanning over an account of shimmer inventory when a black blur slaps against your chest. An undignified yelp leaves your lips and you nearly chuck the clipboard at Sevika’s chuckling figure in the doorway. “Put ‘em on.” “What?” You inspect the items carefully. They’re gloves. Leather, expensive from the look of it. “How much did these-” “Don’t worry about it. Put ‘em on.”

If you forget to wear them, then she’s taking it upon herself to glove you like a child. Will be as condescending about it as possible, will do it as she’s debriefing her men. If for whatever reason you can’t wear them/forget them, then she’s intertwining your fingers with hers to make sure they stay unblemished

 If she decided to go the route of a fidget toy, it’d be something she made herself with some scrap metal

Sevika’s at it again, tinkering with not her arm, but some side project she’s been engrossed with for the last week. Whenever you tried to ask her about it, you were shut down with a ‘mind your own business’ and a cloud of cigar smoke blown your way.  When you go to give her a synopsis of the product exchange you oversaw, you miss the way she sets down her metal project purposefully within your reach. During the drone of your words, an anxious little part of your brain notices when a drunk patron passes a little too close to you and you absentmindedly start fiddling with it.  She appraises its effectiveness at pacifying you and deems it a success. “So it’s good?” “Huh? Oh, it went fine, yeah.” “No. That.”  Your eyes trail down to see her beloved creation in your grasp. “Oh, shit. Sorry-” “It’s yours.” You’re stunned into silence. All you can do is examine the gift carefully, delicately turning it between your fingers. The craftsmanship is impressive and detailed, grooves intricately carved into the surface for texture against worried fingertips. A ball of geometric form- that, frankly, looks like it was a nightmare to shape- sits in between two rings, designed to be rotated and fiddled with to your liking. The entirety of the toy is the same color as the metal of her arm, you note with some sentimentality.

Or she would steal Jinx’s toys (putty/little puzzles) and give them to you to fidget with

“Ogre!” Your head whips towards the door, now slammed open by a tiny, angry preteen. Sevika snarls back in response as an exhausted Silco enters the room as a mediator. Threats, accusations, and scolds are being tossed around the room at dizzying speeds. “I knew it! She’s been stealing my toys!” “It’s not stealing if you leave them out for me to trip on-” “You’re giving me something you stole from a child, Sev? Really?” “Sevika, I have to ask you to leave my daughter’s belongings as you found them, please.”

NSFW

Would hold something (sex) over your head

“I don’t want your bleeding fingers touching me.” “Sev. We’ve exchanged bodily fluids many times-” “It’s different.”

It’s not different. She’s swapped blood with half of the Undercity through fist fights. She’s just trying to prove a point

She would make you watch as she touched herself, and slap your hands if you tried

Or, she’ll give you something to do with your fingers

Or put them in her mouth so you can’t get to them. She definitely caught them bleeding one time and put them in her mouth to suck on (so much for bacteria)

She's a freak

[bellysoupset]

what are you using to design them btw?

home.by.me (literally the entire url is this)

You gotta make a free account and they give you three free projects, but actually if you design all houses in one project you can keep using at ad infinitum lol. I'm doing all the dumbasses in 1 project 😆